


A million dreams for the child I lost

by alphabetgirl



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Anne is a great girlfriend, Awesome big sister lettie, Betrayal, Bromance, Chains, Corruption, Crying, Family, Happy Ending, Hurt phillip, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Minor Injuries, Other tags to be added, P.T and Charity have a long lost son, Romance, The circus is one big protective family, protective dad P.T, protective mother charity, sad in places
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14813855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphabetgirl/pseuds/alphabetgirl
Summary: P.T and Charity Barnum have been hiding a heart breaking secret from the rest of the circus troop. What happens when this secret starts coming to light?(Chapter 11 is now up).





	1. A recurring nightmare

“A million dreams for the world we’re gonna make…” Sixteen year old Charity cooed to the little blanket clad bundle in her arms, rocking gently from side to side. 

 

Her new born son gurgled happily and waved his tiny fists at her, causing her heart to swell with love of such fierce intensity that she felt that her heart would surely burst. 

“Yes, you like that song, don’t you, honey?” she said softly, stroking the baby’s petal soft cheek with her forefinger gently as he blinked up at her. “You’re Daddy taught it to me,”. 

She closed her eyes tightly for a moment as a wave of pain washed over her, taking a few steadying breaths to prevent herself from giving into the tears now pressing against her lids. She had to be strong now for the baby. Phineas would want her to be strong. As if he could sense her turmoil, the baby twined his fingers in her long blonde hair, tugging lightly and drawing a small smile from his mother. He really was the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen. She had always thought that babies were born bald, but her son was already adorned with a thick mop of dark hair. His large blue eyes were alert and keen, ringed by dark lashes, his nose strong and straight.  
“You look just like him,” she said softly, gazing down at her precious child. It was the truth. Apart from the birthmark in the shape of a horse shoe on the small of his back, he was pretty much the spitting image of his father. “He is coming for us. He’ll take us both away from here. And we’ll make that world for ourselves,”. 

Those were the words that she had been telling herself for the past several months. Because she refused to believe that he had turned his back on her. He mustn’t have got her letters, or something had happened, that prevented him from coming for her.  
A movement from outside the window of the attic that she had been locked in ever since her parents found out about her pregnancy caught her attention. A severe looking man and woman, dressed in fine clothes were marching down the garden path. Behind them, a woman in a nanny’s uniform was walking at a more sedate pace, pushing a baby’s pram. The sight made her heart seize painfully. She had thought that she would have more time than this. In her arms, the baby began to wriggle, little arms flailing as he picked up on her distress. Knowing that she didn’t have long left, she started talking more rapidly. 

“He will come for us,” she repeated herself. “You might have to go away for me for a little while, but your daddy will find you again. We will find you again,”.

She heard the faint sound of a knock on the door from downstairs, and then the murmuring of voices, and she clutched the baby tighter, swaying slowly and not daring herself to speak as panic began to take over.

By the time her father and the nanny arrived, she was cowering in the corner of the attic, trembling like a leaf but determined to stand her ground.

“It’s time, Charity,” her father said gruffly, emotionlessly and it made Charity’s blood boil. Like her son was just some broken inanimate toy that she had outgrown but didn’t want to let go of.

“He’s your grandson,” she cried, indignant on her baby’s behalf. “You can’t just brush him aside like he is no more than…”

“Charity, that it enough of this foolishness!” her father shouted, making both the nanny and the baby jump, before the latter started to mewl. “I am your father and I know what is best for you,”.

Charity shook her head, moving further backwards until her back was pressed up hard against the wall.

“You are not taking him,” she whispered harshly, defiantly, glad when her voice didn’t waver. She had never stood up to her father like this before.

Her father’s face turned a deeper shade of puce as he took a deep breath in, trying to curb his temper. His right hand twitched, and if it wasn’t that fact that she was currently clutching a baby, she knew that he would have probably strode across the room and struck her across the face by now. She was so busy watching his reaction that she didn’t notice that nanny sneaking forwards until the woman was standing right in front of her.

“It is for the best,” she said in a kind, friendly tone, as if they were old friends. The woman held her arms out for the baby. “My master and mistress can give him a much better life than an unmarried teenager such as yourself can,”. 

“They can’t love him like I do!” Charity all but shrieked. “Like his father…,”

“And where is his father?” her father snapped unkindly, not getting a response as Charity had become distracted by the infant, who at some point had started to wail at the all commotion going on around him. Sighing, he nodded to the nanny, who took a step closer to the distraught teen.

“Come on, that is enough. All of this is not good for the child,” the woman said briskly, holding her arms out again in a quick, aggressive motion.

Charity, filled with daring, sneered.

“In that case then, feel free to PISS OFF!”.

The nanny snorted and then tried to grab the baby, causing both mother and baby to scream.  
“What is going on up here?” The voice of Charity’s mother drew everyone’s attention as she bustled across the room towards her daughter, who was currently froze mid scuffle with the nanny.

For a moment, Charity’s heart soared as her mother reached for her, embraced her. She had come to her senses! There was no way that she was going to let these strangers take her daughter’s son, her grandson from the house. Her naïve hopes were dashed however when her mother grabbed both of her arms, restraining her as her baby son, her world was torn from her. 

“No, No, NO!” she screamed, fighting with all she was worth as the nanny scurried from the room as fast she dared while holding the baby. Her father stepped forward to help her mother hold her back while she shrieked and kicked, punched, scratched. She didn’t care that they were her parents, in that moment, she hated them and she would do whatever it took to get her baby back safely in her arms. 

It was then that her father did what he must have been wanting too ever since she found out that she was pregnant. He drew back one hand and slapped her with all his might, sending her sprawling on the floor. The force of the blow stunned her, just enough for her parents to flee from the room. Her father had just enough time to lock the door behind him before she threw herself full force against it, pounding on it and shouldering it, ignoring the jolts of pain that the movement caused to shoot through her, breath leaving her in sobs. "You need to calm down, Charity," her father called back as he and Charity's mother headed back downstairs, voice still calm despite the drama that had just unfolded. Five minutes later, she heard the front door open again, and lifting the hem of her nightdress, she sprinted to the tiny attic window, where just a short time ago she had been standing with her beloved baby in her arms. From her vantage point, she could see the well dressed couple walking back down the garden path with the nanny following behind. Only this time it was the man that was pushing the pram, exchanging happy smiles with his wife, as if they hadn’t just destroyed a teenage girl’s life.

She watched the three figures until they were out of sight, feeling her heart break even more with every step that they took before she fell to her knees, completely unable to support herself anymore. She had previously thought that sorrow so bad that it made people scream was something that only existed in fictional stories, but she had been wrong. So wrong. Alone in her attic prison, all warmth and joy stolen from her, she screamed. She screamed and screamed until she had nothing left to give.


	2. Waking up

It was the sound of a passing carriage that woke Phineas T. Barnum on that fateful morning. Groaning, he cracked his eyes open before rapidly shutting them again as the morning sunlight dazzled him. Rolling over, he reached for his wife blindly, only to find her side of the mattress stone cold.

"Charity?" he asked in confusion, sitting up and glancing around their spacious bedroom.

His eyes fell on her figure from where she was sitting on the window seat, half hidden by the curtains, staring down absently at their garden. Goose pimples rose on Barnum's arm's, as the sixth sense that he had when it came to his wife told him that something was wrong. 

"Sweetheart, what is it?" he asked, crossing the tiled floor and crouching in front of her, taking both of her hands in his. "You are freezing!" he exclaimed, trying to rub some warmth back into them. "How long have you been sat like this for?".

"I don't know," Charity plucked at the hem of her night dress. It was Phineas' favourite one, almost see through white cotton and trimmed with duck egg blue ribbons. Normally he found her irresistible in it, but right now was not the time for any of that. 

"What is it?" he asked again, a little more urgently as his concern grew.

"I had that dream again," she whispered, eyes filling with tears, her porcelain fingers reaching up to catch the first one as it dropped from her lashes.

Phineas didn't have to ask which one, as he brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her fingers for a long moment. He already knew which one it had been. She had dreamt of the day that their son had been ripped from her. Sighing, he gathered her into his arms, stroking her hair and pressing kisses to the top of her head.

"It was 24 years ago today," she said brokenly.

"You should have woke me," he whispered.

"But you have been so busy, with rebuilding the circus and..."

"You honestly think any of that matters right now," Phineas exclaimed.

Charity didn't answer, just began to sob into his shoulder, causing her husband to pull her even closer. The pain had never left her, the same way that it had never left him. The girls could distract them most days, but it still felt like a piece of them was missing, and on days like this, the anniversary of when their son was put up for adoption, the pain was especially raw. 

"I'm sorry," Phineas whispered. "I should have done something. Stopped them from taking him,".

Charity pulled back to look at him.

"What could you have done? You didn't know that he existed. My father intercepted all of my letters to you," she said, thinking back to that desperate seven months she had spent locked up in her family home. It had taken her three months to realise that she was pregnant, after that one magical night then she snuck out to meet Phineas at the beach before he left for his rail line job again. Although she had been scared, she hadn't regretted it, for she knew that the growing life within her was a blessing. She still didn't regret it. She would rather have had him and lost him than not had him at all. Her parents, unfortunately, had not shared her joy. They had been furious and refused to let her leave the house. She had tried to send letters to Phinn at his new posting, but unbeknownst to Charity, her father had stopped each and every one of them. When she was seven months pregnant, she had been kept locked in the attic, where she gave birth and where she lived with her baby for three weeks while an adoptive family could be found and arrangements could be made. Two months after the baby had been taken, she found the letters in her father's desk drawer, along with the ones that Phinn had sent to her, confused at the lack of correspondence and hoping for some sort of reply. Knowing that he still loved her, that he hadn't abandoned her, caused her to smile for the first time in eight weeks. She had found a new delivery boy, one who she could trust, to transport her letters to the post office after that.

"Come back to bed for a few hours,".

"It is already late...".

"Phillip can hold the fort for a few hours. Now come back to bed,".

Phillip. The sweet natured playwright that her husband had taken on as an 'apprentice'. The same 'apprentice' that had saved them from ruin a little under a year later, after that dreadful fire. He had quickly become a beloved member of the Barnum family, the girls viewing him as a big brother. 

Charity let Phineas lead her back to the bed and tuck her under the covers, smoothing her hair back off her face before pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

"Try to sleep for a couple more hours," he whispered as she settled with her head on his chest.

She didn't expect to be able to doze off again, but with her husband rubbing her back and her face tucked into the crook of his neck, she was somehow able to quieten her thoughts and surrender herself into a dreamless sleep.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

It was nearly noon by the time that they did arrive at the circus, with two excitable girls in tow, finding it in it's usual state of barely organised chaos. Half of the troop were in the ring, rehearsing a new act, while the other half were trying to recapture an escaped foal, who was prancing around the seating area, frollicking in it's newfound freedom in delight. Charles and Constantine were messing around in the wardrobe area. Phineas didn't have a clue what they were doing but they seemed to be having a good time regardless.

"Phillip!" Helen called excitedly, making a beeline for her favourite playmate, Caroline following at a more sedate pace. The harassed look dropped off the young man's face as she threw her arms around his middle before starting to climb him like a tree.

"Oh, one of the circus monkeys has escaped again," he said.

"We don't even have any circus monkeys," Helen said, jumping down and landing on her feet neatly.

"Yes we do, we have you," Phillip said, picking the little girl up and putting her over his shoulder, making her squeal in delight.

Caroline beat a rapid retreat, deeming herself to be too old for such larking about as Phillip carried her sister over to one of the spare animal pens and shut the door, walking away without locking it.

"Mister Barnum sir?" a tentative voice pulled Phineas' attention away from his family. 

Beside him, a scruffy boy of about Helen's age was standing, fiddling with his sleeves awkwardly. He wore trousers and a dirty white shirt that was too large, and a tweed cap set at a jaunty angle was perched upon his head. 

"Yes, what is it?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Mr Rogers sent me, sir. He told me to tell you that he thinks that he has found your son, sir,".


	3. Fresh hope

The words rang in Phineas' head as loud and as clear as a bell as he weaved through the various performers, almost bowling one of the animal tamers over in his hurry. The investigators had found his son. The investigators had found his son.

"Phillip, I need to watch the girls for an hour, maybe two,". 

The young man looked up from where he had been tying Helen's shoelace, surprised at the curtness in the ringmaster's tone. Caroline, who had decided to join in their game after all, took advantage of his distraction to 'escape' from her pen again.

"Sure, no problem. Is everything...alright?" 

"It will be...I erm, I don't know... look, I just really need to get going," 

"Of course, whatever it is, I hope you get it sorted," Phillip said kindly, before taking off running after the 'circus monkeys' again. 

"Phineas, what is going on?" Charity asked in confusion as he took her arm, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. 

"I got a message from Mr Rogers," Phineas explained, shepherding her outside. 

"Who?" 

"The private investigator that I hired," he snapped impatiently, instantly regretting his tone. "Sorry," 

"And?" Charity breathed.

"He thinks that he has found our son.". 

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

The carriage ride was by the far the longest of Phineas' life. His stomach was a bundle of a nerves, and his knee bounced in agitation, fingers tapping the seat of the carriage impatiently as the horses seemed to move at a snail's pace through the heavy traffic on the streets of the city. Glancing at Charity, he saw that his wife seemed to be in much the same state as he was, her face ashen. Silently, he reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers in a show of support and got a ghost of a smile in return. After what seemed like an eternity, the carriage drew up in front of a row of smart, terraced buildings just off one of the main high streets. Phineas soon spotted the building that he needed to call at. A garish red sign hung above the door, with the words 'Rogers' and Greenwell's investigation agency' embossed in gold upon it. He all but threw the money at the driver in his haste to be out, assisting Charity down after him. It wasn't until the driver cast a dirty look his way as he was moving off that Phineas realised that he had forgotten to give him a tip. 

The couple climbed the short flight of steps up to the front door of the building as quickly as if they had winged feet. Phineas took a deep breath out before lifting up the brass knocker and rapping it hard against the wood several times. Almost instantly, a faint pattering could be heard as someone came to allow them entrance. Behind it, stood an young man of about sixteen or seventeen years of age, dressed smartly in a dark suit with his hands clasped behind his back formally.

"We're here to see Mr Rogers," Phineas explained as he and Charity stepped into the building's rather plain lobby. "Barnum?". 

"Ah, Mr Barnum," a voice exclaimed, and another man appeared from one of the side rooms, dusting his hands on his trousers. He was a small man, smaller than Charity, rotund with receding grey hair and wearing a pair of spectacles. He flashed the husband and wife duo a warm smile. Phineas recognised him as Mr Rogers. Mr Rogers gave him a rather firm handshake, and kissed the back of Charity's fingers briefly. "If you would like to follow me, sir.". 

The investigator's office was small, but expensively furnished. A large mahogany bookcase occupied one wall, the floor to ceiling shelves crammed with various books and files, filling the room with their musty scent. In front of it was the investigator's desk, made of the same wood, it's legs carved to look like lion's paws. There were Persian rugs on the floor, and an elaborate chandelier prevented the windowless room from being dark and dingy. The investigator ushered the couple to two velvet clad chairs, doing Charity the service of pulling hers out and pushing it in again for her before rounding the desk to sit in his own chair. 

"Would you like some coffee? Or maybe something stronger?" he nodded to a side table where a crystal decanter filled with whiskey stood, along with several matching tumblers.

<

"No, thank you," Charity replied politely, with a shake of her head, wringing her hands in her lap and picking at her gloves, something that Phinn knew that she only did when she was nervous. He set his hand on top of hers, stilling them, and felt a slight tremor running through her.

"We would just rather get on with it," he said, trying to keep his tone civil.

"Of course, of course," Mr Rogers said, reaching for a file lying on his desk and starting to rifle through it. "I have had my assistants working on this case night and day, terrible situation...Ah!,".

He removed a small bundle of documents and laid them on the desk, smoothing them out before continuing.

"We have been trawling the hospital records, researching all babies that were born around that particular time. There is one birth certificate that has come to light..." he paused for a moment as he ran his eyes over a page of notes. "A baby boy born on the 15th June, 1827.".

Upon hearing Charity's sharp intake of breath, Phinn squeezed her wrist comfortingly, while setting his free arm around her shoulders.

"But surely lots of babies were born that night. How do you know that he is ours?".

"You are right, about there being a lot of babies born on that day, indeed, all the hospital maternity wards in the city had a very busy day, however, what intrigues us is that the birth certificate - oh dear, what have I done with it? the birth certificate claims that he was born in General Hospital. However, the hospital records show no sign of him,". He reached for his folder again, flipping through the various papers. Phineas took a deep breath, trying to curb his temper.

"There was, however, a scribbled note made by the on call doctor, who was called out to deliver a baby in an attic,".

He slid a scrap of paper across the desk towards them, yellowing with age and starting to curl up at the edges. For a moment, Phineas could only stare at it, the handwriting was so appalling, as if it had been written in a rush.

'Baby boy, safely delivered on the 15th June 1827 in an attic. Both mother and son are doing well'.

"Could it be?" Charity breathed, eyes filling with tears.

"This baby never rematerialized. It is possible that he died soon after birth, but surely there would have been a death certificate and a funeral? There wasn't either of these things. Besides, it seems too much of a coincidence, that two babies were born in secret, in attics, on the same night,".

Phineas was starting to wish that he had taken the investigator up on his offer of a drink, his throat suddenly becoming as dry as parchment.

"Do you have his name?" he croaked.

"Yes, just give me a moment to find the birth certificate," Mr Rogers replied, reaching for another folder. "Maybe I put it in here by mistake,".

Phineas' fingers twitched with an urge to, well, Phineas didn't know what. Hit the man, throw something, punch the wall. He was so close to finding his long lost son, and this blithering idiot had lost the most important document, the key to finding him. Now, it was Charity's turn to sooth him, laying on hand on his arm and rubbing gently.

"Here it is!" Mr Rogers cried triumphantly, removing a loose sheet of paper.

"The parents also waited a month before registering the birth. As I am sure that you will agree, very strange,".

Charity took the paper in a shaking hand and held it between them so that Phineas could read it as well. 

"Oh, my..." Charity gasped, hand flying to her mouth, whereas Phineas was too dumbfounded for words, as they stared at the name that was on the birth certificate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! Chapter 3! I hope that you enjoyed it.
> 
> So, what do you think the birth certificate says? Will this missing child want to get to know his real mother and father?


	4. The secret is out

Phineas closed his eyes, and then reopened them again, as if the birth certificate would reveal something different the second time around. However, the same words stared back at him.

_Phillip Carlyle -  Male._

_Born 15 June 1827_

_Father: Emmerson Carlyle.        Mother:  Prudence Carlyle_

"There must be a mistake...,"He said, as Charity drew in a shuddering breath.

"We can investigate further," Mr Rogers said, rubbing his hands together and regarding the pair sympathetically over the rim of his spectacles. "However, this is the only baby born that night that isn't accounted for in the hospital records. If you are right and he isn't your son, then I fear that we have hit a dead end,".

 

The words from the birth certificate played over and over again in Phinn's mind as he and Charity went back to the circus via carriage. _Phillip Carlyle, date of birth 15th June 1827, Prudence Carlyle, Emmerson Carlyle, Phillip Carlyle, Phillip Carlyle._ His son. His son was alive and well, and had been living under his nose as his business partner for the last several months.

Charity was out of the carriage almost before it even had time to stop, shamelessly holding her skirts above her ankles in her haste to get into the circus. And to her son.

"Charity!" Phinn called, scrambling after her. "Charity! Wait! What are you going to do?".

"I need to see him!" She called over her shoulder.

"Charity," Phinn said again, getting in front of her and placing his hands on her shoulders, gently holding her in place. "We don't know for certain that he is our son, we need to investigate it more, and we can't just blurt it out to him, we need to plan how we are going to tell him. He probably has no idea that his parents might not be his,".

His eyes roamed his wife's face, and he could tell that she was fighting an internal battle within herself, the same one that he was currently fighting. Part of her just wanted to go in and hold her son. The other part knew that there was a lot of truth in what he was saying.

"O.K," she said finally, relaxing under his touch.

"We will tell him soon, but in the meantime, just act natural," he said, setting one hand in the small of her back as he guided her into the main circus tent.

 

**********************************************************************************************************************************************

It was the sound of giggling that drew Anne Wheeler into the small wardrobe tent, that was filled almost to bursting with racks of brightly coloured costumes of silk and velvet, along with the various props and equipment used during the act. There was a system of storing them, but it would take anyone from outside the circus precious years of their life to try to figure it out. It being summer, the inside of the tent was quite warm, but Anne had no doubt that getting changed in here would be freezing come winter. The giggling intensified, moments before a large, frilly frumpy dress stepped out from between the racks, startling the trapeze artist in the process. It wasn't until the dress crossed the short distance and wrapped it's arms around her waist that Anne realised that it was little Helen Barnum, wearing the dress, that was far too big for her, over her normal clothes. Caroline and Phillip emerged a few seconds later, Caroline giving her a hug as well. They must have broken into the circus make-up at some point as all three of them were covered in it, making Anne laugh at the ridiculous sight of them. The girls let go of her waist and scampered past, heading out of the tent and making their way back towards the main circus ring. Phillip let them go, knowing that there were plenty of other performers present to make a fuss of them and ensure that they didn't get into too much mischief.

"You are such a soft touch," Anne said to her boyfriend, a teasing smile on her lips. She never failed to find the way he let both little girls do anything to him completely adorable.

He smiled and shook his head fondly, crossing to the small basin of water in the corner of the dressing area and soaking a cloth.

"Yeah, well, when it comes to kids, I couldn't eat a whole one," he said, starting to scrub at the red and blue make up caking his face.

"Maybe, but I think Caroline and Helen would have no problem eating you,".

"Oh really," he said, flashing her an amused look. "This stuff isn't budging,".

Anne bit back a laugh at the slight edge of panic in his tone.

"That isn't the stuff that Lettie brought back from the market a few weeks ago, is it?".

"I don't know. Maybe,".

"Oh man, that stuff takes days to come off,".

Phillip paled in horror, causing Anne to burst out laughing, clutching her stomach and doubling over.

"I'm kidding," she laughed. "You are just not scrubbing hard enough,".

She took the cloth off him and started scrubbing at the make up on his chin firmly but gently.

"You are so vain," she muttered fondly.

Phillip snorted.

"Says the woman who won't go to bed until she has brushed her hair with one hundred strokes,".

Anne glanced up with a mock scowl before she realised how close they were, just inches from each other and her retort died on her lips. He was looking at her intensely, and as usual, she found herself getting lost in those blue orbs. Her heart started fluttering like a butterfly in summer, and she prayed, yet again, that she would always feel like this whenever he looked at her, like she was flying even when both feet were planted on the ground. She licked her lips, which had suddenly turned dry and his eyes flicked down, following the movement. Feeling hot, she unconsciously leant in a bit closer, as did he, until she could feel his breath on her cheek. He shifted, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, while her own twitched to do something, so she raised them to his shoulders.

"Are you about to kiss?" A little voice jolted them out of their moment and back down to Earth with a bump.

"Wh, what, no, of, of course not," Phillip spluttered as they both turned to Helen, who was stood in front of them with her hands on her hips, looking far older than her seven years.

The little girl raised an eyebrow.

"It looked like you were," she said "It looked like you were about to snog each other's faces off,".

"Helen!" Phillip cried, pouncing on the child. "Where are you even getting that sort of language?".

The youngest Barnum shrieked as he started to tickle her as, like most big brother figures, he knew exactly where to get her. Lettie stuck her head in just as her laughter was starting to turn breathless.

"Helen, your mother and father's carriage just pulled up,".

"So?"

"So, unless you want tonight's first act to be Phillip getting publicly flogged, you should probably find your sister and get all that make up scrubbed off you both before your mother sees the state of you,".

The singer shook her head with an exasperated smile before walking away again.

Phillip set Helen back on her feet.

"Mummy wouldn't flog you, she likes you to much," the child informed him, scampering off.

************************************************************************************************************************************************

Phillip was the first person that Charity saw upon walking into the tent. Of course he was. He was chatting with Jerome, the elephant skinned man near the entrance when he suddenly laughed at something the other man said, and the likeness between him and Phineas caused her breath to catch in her throat. The way he stood, his dark hair and blue eyes, the way he tossed his head back when he laughed. She couldn't understand how she had not seen it before now.

"Let's find the girls," Phinn muttered in her ear. "Remember, act natural,".

"How can you be so normal about all of this," she hissed.

"Charity, I know that it is hard, believe me, I want nothing more than to go over to him and...but we can't. We have to be delicate in how we handle this,".

Charity nodded resignedly, blinking to clear her eyes of tears. Sighing, Phinn reached out to cup her face gently, kissing her forehead.

"Go and find the girls and sit in the stands. I need to get ready for the show,".

Phineas ran his fingers repeatedly through his hair as he stalked to his office. Heck, what was he supposed to do? Rogers was a good investigator, the best in the city, most people said. If he said that there was a high chance that Phillip was his son than there must be. But even then, even the best people made mistakes. What were the odds of the person he had come to look upon as a son actually being his son? What if they told Phillip that Mr and Mrs Carlyle weren't his parents when actually they were? They would be causing a heap of unnecessary pain and distress. Sighing, he sat down at his desk and reached for the bottle of whiskey he kept in the bottom drawer and poured himself a measure, accidentally spilling a bit onto the surface top. Cursing, he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and began to blot it up, watching a dark stain spread out over the cotton. It was then that an idea hit him.

Fifteen minutes later, he was walking back through the circus ring, this time with a lukewarm cup of coffee in hand. Catching sight of Phillip, he smiled to himself, before pretending to trip over a loose bit of rope. The coffee flew from the confines of the cup and hit the younger man's chest with a wet slap.

"Whoa, sorry buddy. Honestly, who left that lying there? I'm sorry,".

"It's fine, really," Phillip said with a smile, holding the sopping wet material away from his skin. "Can I borrow a fresh shirt out of the wardrobe?".

"Sure, no problem," Phineas replied, wincing at the overly bright tone in his voice.

Phineas waited a few seconds after the younger man headed off to get changed before following. Phillip had his back to the door, pulling on a crisp white shirt and exposing his lower back in the process. Phineas drew his breath in sharply at the sight of the horse shoe shaped birth mark on the boy's back, the sound catching the younger man's attention, causing him to look over his shoulder.

"I am fully capable of changing a shirt by myself, you know," he joked, smiling easily until he saw the expression on the other man's face.

"What's wrong," he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "P.T.?" he prompted when no reply was forthcoming.

"Phineas mentally shook himself.

"Nothing, nothing...that mark on your back. Have you always had it?"

Phillip stiffened.

"Which one?" he asked cautiously.

"That horse shoe shaped one,".

Phineas was too busy staring at the boy's now cotton clad back to notice how his shoulders slumped in relief.

"Yeah, it's a birthmark. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Phineas said lightly. ' _Other than the fact that I have seen one just like it thousands of times on your mother'_

"Right, well, we should probably get out there. The show is due to start in less than an hour,".

The older man didn't move.

"P.T?,".

_'Get it together. Get it together'._

"Yes, of course," he said, trying to project as much cheer into his voice as possible as he held the canvas flap of the tent aside. "After you,".

************************************************************************************************************************************************

"He is our son," Phineas murmured in Charity's ear. He had no idea how he had managed to pull off a normal performance during that night's show. It had all passed in a blur and he found himself incapable of remembering a single second of it, his thoughts had been consumed with the knowledge that his son was standing in the wings the entire time.

Charity turned from where she had been watching the performers tidy the ring.

"Did you really have any doubts?"

"No, but the horse shoe birthmark on his back confirms it completely." Phineas replied. "It is yours,".

Charity blinked rapidly to clear her vision, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth for a few seconds as she brought her emotions back under control again.

"So what do we do now?" she asked.

"We need to tell him. Tonight,".

"So soon? Are you sure?" Shouldn't we, I don't know, plan what we are going to do first?".

"We can't let this drag on, if we leave it he will want to know why we didn't tell him sooner,".

"But finding out that his parents are actually his adoptive parents...he is going to be so upset,".

"Because they have been really great to him," Phineas scoffed. Phillip had not said much about his childhood, but he had mentioned enough for Phineas to know that they had not been overly warm towards him.

"They are still his parents," Charity whispered.

"It will come as a shock. But I believe that he has the right to know. We don't have to replace them, if he doesn't want us to. Besides, I don't know how I can live with this,".

Charity nodded. She had to agree that her husband had a point.

"O.K," she said.

"So we tell him?".

"Yes, we tell him,".

They waited until all of the crowds and the other performers had left before approaching Phillip in his and Phineas' shared caravan office, where he was looking over that night's ticket sales.

The sight of him made Charity's breath catch in her throat. Her son. Her arms ached to reach out and hold him. It was a physical ache, starting at her fingertips, running up her arms and ending in her heart. Beside her, her husband gave a deep sigh, one that she echoed as he glanced at her. He raised his eyebrow in silent askance, and she nodded swiftly, subtly. Wordlessly, he reached out to close the caravan door with a soft click.

"Hey," Phillip greeted cheerfully. "Everything alright?".

"We need to talk," Phineas said, the serious tone in his voice such a contrast to the normally vibrant, happy, enigmatic character.

"O.K," Phillip said, setting down his list of figures.

Charity deliberated on how to phrase it. Her and Phineas hadn't discussed that. She supposed that it was so impossible to find a right way to say something like this that you automatically didn't even try.

"We are your parents," Phineas blurted out. Typical Phinn. Straight to the point.

"Come again?".

"We are your parents. Me and Charity, we met up when we were kids one night and...well, you know how babies are made, I'm sure, but when you were born her parents made her give you up,".

Phillip laughed.

"O.K. Who put you up to this?".

"No one," Charity replied. "It's the truth, I swear, I never wanted to let you go. Your parents were the adoptive pair that my parents found after you were born".

"Seriously, this isn't funny anymore," Phillip snapped as he started to become agitated, "Stop it,". 

"Phillip, please," Charity said softly, reaching out to him. She winced when he cringed away. 

 "The birthmark on your back, the horse shoe, your mother, Charity has the exact same one. That is why I was so weird about it earlier,".

The younger man pushed himself off the desk and started pacing, running his hands through his hair. When he looked back to them, his eyes were full of hurt. 

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered, and Charity's lip wobbled at the betrayal in his voice.

"Phillip, sweetheart, please, we are not doing this to hurt you. We were as shocked as you are but...".

"Alright, fine," Phillip butted in, tone harsh. "Let's say that I did choose to believe you, which I most certainly don't, why have you left it this long? These last few months, have you just been waiting to see if I could be useful, be a son that you want to have around?".

"That is ridiculous, of course not," Charity protested.

"Is it? Is it ridiculous? Well, answer me this, _mother,_ why have you waited for the last twenty four years before telling me?"

The whole time, the young man's voice had been raising until he was almost shouting, and Phineas knew that he had to try to calm the situation down. He reached out, taking his son by the shoulders gently, rubbing them absentmindedly.

"Shhh, you need to calm down" he soothed.

"Do I?" Phillip scoffed, jerking away again.

Phineas resorted to the only other way he knew of getting him to at least lower his voice. "The others will hear,".

Phillip shot a furtive look towards the door. "Maybe they should do. Maybe they should hear how cruel you are being,".

Charity muffled a sob against the back of her hand and Phineas felt a flicker of anger stir in him. He understood the younger man's reaction, he had been pretty much expecting it, and he didn't blame him for it, but he had always been protective of his wife. His wife who was being called cruel by the son she had been pining and searching for over the last 24 years. Stepping forwards, he grasped Phillip's elbow, firmly so he couldn't pull away but not enough to hurt. He had perfected that technique after years with young daughters who always stubbornly refused to leave the play park.

"We wanted to keep you. I didn't even know that you have been born until after you were adopted. They stopped all of Charity's letters frlm reaching me. We have been looking for you ever since and we only just found out today, from our private investigator. They figured it out from hospital record not adding up. It is where we went today, when we asked you to watch the girls,".

Phillip didn't respond, was staring into the middle distance with a blank expression, and Phineas began to hope that he had finally gotten through to him. And then...

"I'm leaving," Phillip spat, wrenching his arm away and reaching for his jacket where it was draped over his chair. "Don't follow me,".

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in posting. I have been working a lot of hours and I am also in the process of selling my house, so things are pretty manic. Hope you enjoyed this longer chapter anyway. Let me know what you think, please and thank you.What do you think will happen next?
> 
> I'm not sure when I will next post. I have started writing a rough draft of chapter 5, but between work, the house etc, I'm not sure when I will have it finished.


	5. Demanding answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next few chapters will be mainly about Phillip, how he copes with what he has been told, what he does etc. I'm trying to keep his reaction as realistic as possible, but it isn't easy, as I can't even begin to imagine what it is like to be told that your mum and dad aren't really your parents. Even if you don't get on particularly well with them, like Phillip doesn't, it must really mess your head up.

"Which one of you put them up to that?" Phillip demanded, storming over to where a small group of circus performers were sat outside one of the caravans, playing a game of cards.

W.D and Lettie both looked up, astounded, they had never heard him sound so angry before.

W.D swallowed.

"Who put who up to what?" he asked lightly, although he had an idea who had made the other man so furious. They had all heard the raised voices coming from the office, albeit they had been unable to determine what was being said. It wasn't uncommon for Phillip and Barnum to have the occasional spat, the ringmaster could be very irritating at times, but for the former to raise his voice in front of Charity, something bad must have happened.

"Is this about the fake spider in your desk drawer?" Charles asked tentatively.

"The what? No! It isn't about the fake spider,".

"Then I haven't got a clue what you are on about, I'm afraid,".

"Look, it is not funny. Whoever it is, just stop and give it up. Because this is getting really twisted now," Phillip fumed, getting more and more tightly wound.

"Phillip, honey, no on knows what it is that is bothering you so much," Lettie said, trying to pacify her friend.

"Oh, is this about the booby trap I set? Did you accidentally trigger it? Because it was meant for Barnum," Constantine said.

Phillip just scoffed and stomped off, kicking a wooden water pail out of his way violently as he did so.

"What an overreaction," Constantine muttered, turning back to the card game.

"I really don't think that was about the booby trap, Constantine," W.D remarked worriedly, staring after the other man.

********************************************************************************************************************************************

Anne sighed in relief as she removed her wig and shook her hair free from the pins holding it in place. As much as she like the ethereal look it gave her, it did and half make her head hot during summer performances. Shaking the hair piece out, and working a few tangles out of the candy floss coloured locks with her finger tips, she wondered where Phillip had got to. He had only left to take some paperwork back to the office, with the promise to 'be right back' and that had been a while ago. She was planning on suggesting that they go somewhere for the evening, get out of the stuffy tents and into the fresh air. Maybe a walk through the park, and a stop at that nice hot chocolate shop on the way back. She didn't have to wonder on his whereabouts for long, however, before the sounds of rapid footsteps reached her ears and she turned to see her boyfriend hurrying towards her.  

"Hey!" She called cheerfully, stretching, her tired muscles protesting as she did so. Hmmm. Maybe she'd be able to score herself a quick shoulder rub before they headed out. Phillip, however, breezed right past her as if he hadn't seen her. 

"Phillip? Flip?" She dashed after him, catching hold of his arm. 

He paused before turning to look at her, or rather, look through her, and she was shocked at the expression on his face. She had heard of people looking like they had seen a ghost but before now, she genuinely hadn't been able to apply that saying to. 

"Not now," Phillip muttered, turning away from her again.

"What's wrong?" Anne asked worriedly, not letting go of his arm and bringing her free hand up to touch his shoulder briefly, before changing her mind and trying to stroke his cheek instead. He jerked his head away from the contact, and she tried not to be hurt by that.

"I can't...I need to go," he said softly, a note of urgency in his tone.

"Go where, what's wrong?"

He was trembling under her hand, his breath leaving him almost in sobs. He tried to walk away again, but this time she was ready for him, darting in front of him and placing both of her hands on his shoulders.

"Phil, you're scaring me,".

He sighed, almost irritably.

"It's nothing for you to be worried about," he said quietly, carefully, as he very gently set his hands on her waist and tried to guide her out of his way. "I just need to go and do something,". 

"But what? What's wrong,".

"For God's sake, Anne. I said not now!" 

Anne's hands fell to her sides as she finally stepped out of his path. She had seem him lose his temper on a couple of occasions, and to be honest, those had been quite funny, like hearing a puppy growl for the first time and his anger had never been directed at her- until now. 

"Fine," she muttered, before raising her voice to shout after the retreating figure. "Fine!".

**********************************************

Phillip was just about running by the time he burst out of the circus grounds, breath leaving him in ragged gasps as he hurried towards the main road, desperate to put as much space between him and the place he had come to think of as home. He didn't need time to think about where he was going to go, there was only one place that he could go after that revellation. The doorman of a nearby bed and breakfast eyed him strangely as he past and he slowed to a brisk walk until he reached the nearest carriage point, cursing when he saw that it was empty. He had developed a stitch in his side, and he leaned against a signpost until it eased, hoping that it wouldn't take too long for a carriage to arrive, and that nobody from the circus followed him.  He was in luck, for he couldn't have been there for more than five minutes before the sounds of hooves and creaking rattle of wheels reached him, and then a small carriage, pulled by two ginger horses came around the corner of the street, slowing to a halt when he hailed the driver. Phillip rattled off the address quickly and clambered in, drawing the curtains across the windows to shut out the rest of the world.

The journey seemed to take hours and at the same time mere seconds.

"We're here now, sir," the driver called from his seat.

Phillip took a deep breath in, held it for a few seconds and then let it out again before opening the carriage door and stepping outside. "Keep the change," he muttered absentmindedly as he paid the driver before turning to look at his childhood home.

The Carlyle residence was set back from the main street, accessed by a long driveway, which Phillip now walked along, having had the carriage drop him off just after the turn off. It was pitch black, but the young man's expert knowledge of where all of the wheel ruts were meant that he didn't stumble in the dark and the walk gave him time to try to gather his thoughts. Ahead of him, the large house loomed, a house that used to give him a feeling of coming home, and a feeling of family, until the circus taught him what a feeling of family truly was. Despite the late hour, all of the windows were still lit and as he drew closer, he could hear the sound of piano music drifting out across the impressive gardens. For the last four generations, the head of the Carlyle house had made it his mission to build on to the already large property, and Phillip's father clearly planned to outdo his ancestors, if the scaffolding encasing the left wing of the house was anything to go by. A peacock scuttled across the path in front of him, and Phillip snorted and shook his head at the ostentatiousness of it. He had remembered his mother excitedly telling all her friends about her plans to purchase the birds at some party or dinner or whatever, right before he had joined the circus. That reminded him just how long it had been since he had been home.

Before he knew it, he was arriving at the front door, raising one hand to use the brass lion head's knocker, whereas once he would have just walked in. He waited a couple of seconds before he heard the muffled pattering of well polished shoes on marble flooring, before the door creaked open, throwing light onto the porch. The sudden brightness was dazzling, and it took a few seconds of rapid blinking before Phillip could make out Geoffrey, the family's long serving (long suffering) butler.

"Master Carlyle?" Geoffrey was also squinting, clearly not able to believe his eyes.

"Yes, it's me, Geoffrey. Are my parents home?" Phillip asked.

"Y-Yes they are. They aren't expecting you, though,".

"I know, I decided to pay them an impromptu visit," Phillip replied, fidgeting on the doorstep. Geoffrey didn't stand aside or invite him in, but just stared, almost as if in a daze.

"Can I come in?" Phillip asked, raising an eyebrow.

The elderly butler hesitated.

"Well, I, I ,I  d don't know, if, if the...".

Phillip sighed and interrupted the other man's stammering, putting on his 'Lordship's voice', as Anne liked to call it, for the first time in months.

"Geoffrey, I am still a Carlyle, and I have urgent business with my parents so I need to come in. No matter what you may think of my current lifestyle choices, it is not your place to decide whether or not I can see them,".

The butler's spine straightened even more, if that was possible, and when he replied, his voice was it's usual polite, monotone timbre, but his eyes were icy.

"No, that decision belongs to your parents," he opened the door wider. "You can wait in the hallway while I tell them that you are here and find out if they want to see you,".

Phillip's answering smile was more of a grimace as he stepped over the threshold and walked into the centre of the hall.

"I would offer to take your hat, sir, but you don't appear to have brought one," Geoffrey said, as he walked off to find the Carlyles, and this time there was definitely a degree of snippiness in his tone.

Left alone in the hallway like an unwanted, unexpected guest (which Phillip supposed he was now), he took the time to study the once familiar surroundings. The walls of the hallway and the staircase had been wall papered again, quite recently if the faint smell of glue was anything to go by, another antique painting was hanging up and as usual, there was not a speck of dust anywhere. The massive ornate mirror was still hanging up on the wall opposite the door, so his mother could check her reflection before she went out. She was so vain that she kept a mirror in every room of the house. Phillip flinched when he saw what he currently looked like. He had left his hat behind at the circus in his mad dash to get away, his coat was buttoned up wrong and his hair was sticking up every which way from all the times he had absentmindedly ran his fingers through it and his skin was extremely pale, the way it always did go whenever he was feeling ill, or stressed, or in shock. Right now, he was feeling a mixture of all three.

He had fixed the buttons on his coat, which proved to be quite a task with his fingers trembling so much, and was trying to coax his hair back into it's usual style when he heard the harried tone of his mother and the deep, grumbling baritone of his father. The doors to the parlour were thrown unceremoniously open, with so much force that one of them struck the wall rather hard and his parents stepped into the hallway. As much as Phillip had tried to bolster himself on the journey over, nothing could have prepared him for seeing his parents again for the first time in months. The last time he had seen them had been a couple of weeks after the fire, when they had come to try, for the final time, to get him to quit the circus and come home. They hadn't visited him at all during the few days he spent in the hospital, even when the doctors weren't sure if he would live. Whereas P.T and Charity had been there almost as much as Anne. It had also been Phineas' shoulder that he had broke down on, following the disastrous conservation with his parents and the events of the last fortnight caught up with him, thinking he'd lost Anne, the fire, realising that his parent's sense of honour meant more to them than he did. And the older man hadn't belittled him or made him feel ashamed for showing emotion afterwards. Why would he and Charity lie? If they were indeed lying?

"Phillip," his father's brisk voice jerked him out of his thoughts. "What is the meaning of this? Showing up at this hour and in this state of  ..." the man paused as he gestured wildly at his son's haphazard appearance, "disarray!".

All of the calm, civil conversations flew out of Phillip's head. The intimidation he had always felt in the presence of his father fled and was replaced with barely controlled rage.

"Is it true?" he spat, taking a step forwards.

"I beg your pardon?" Emerson Carlyle spluttered, involuntarily taking a step backwards.

"Is it true?" Phillip repeated, voice coming out as a dangerous whisper. That was one trait he had inherited from Emerson. When they were extremely angry, their voices went quiet, not loud. Or did he inherit it from Phin? He did exactly the same thing.

"Phillip, dear, perhaps if you told us what it is you are talking about?" his mother said nervously, scurrying forwards and trying to lie a placating hand on his elbow, flinching when he jerked away.

"Are P.T and Charity Barnum my real parents?"

Emerson and Prudence glanced at each other, aghast. 

"Phillip, where are you getting these ridiculous ideas?" Prudence asked, recovering quickly. 

"They told me. They said that they had me when they were sixteen, and Charity's parents made her give me away,".

"Lies. All of it. Although what do you expect from people like that?" his father said gruffly. 

"Your father is right, dear." His mother said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek gently, only applying the lightest contact. Phillip couldn't help but jump slightly. He was not used to physical affection from her. "I know that you think that they have been kind to you, but they are not good people. Conmen at heart, that is what they are. They just do not know when to stop lying.". 

"Barnum only has daughters, right?" Emerson said, stepping forwards. "And he and his wife aren't spring chickens so I doubt that there will be anymore children coming from that union. It's obvious what he is doing. He wants a male heir he can pass his freak show on to. He can't leave it to his daughters, even the nuttiest fan in the state would not accept a  _woman_ leading...conducting...organising the thing. So he makes up a load of preposterous tales about you being his son. All because appearance wise, the two of you look vaguely similar,". 

"Oh my poor boy," Prudence said, pulling the young man into a hug. Probably the first proper one she had ever given him. Phillip had received a few from her in the past, but she had always managed to keep a good six inches between their torsos at the same time. 

"Now you know why we never wanted you to have anything to do with Barnum and his circus" she whispered in his ear. "We knew that he would only end up hurting you. My sweet, trusting boy,". 

Phillip didn't respond, all the thoughts swirling around his head made it impossible to string together a comprehensible sentence. 

"Son, why don't you stay with us tonight? Stay for a while." Emerson said, stepping forwards, his voice the softest it had ever been. 

Phillip shook his head wordlessly, straightening up, despite Prudence's attempts to hold on to him.

"No, it's fine. Thankyou but I'd erm, I'd rather just go home. It's been a long night. I need to go,".

With that, he turned to the door, Geoffrey dashing forwards eagerly to open it for him. There was a gleam in the old man's eyes, as he know doubt knew that no other scrap of gossip that the other servants had could top this. 

Phillip was beyond caring.

"Mother, Father," he said, by way of goodbye, ignoring his mother's appeals for him to stay as he walked off into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! I hope that you enjoyed it.


	6. Who to believe?

Not wanting to return to his empty apartment straightaway, Phillip found himself back at the circus, hoping against hope that P.T and Charity had left, because right now, he needed his sanctuary. Thankfully, the main ring was deserted and he was able to take a short cut across to the office without being detected. Sighing, he flung himself down into his desk chair, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose to try to ward off the approaching headache that he could feel swirling behind his eyes. He had hoped that going to see his parents would have helped to bring some clarity on the situation, and calmed the thoughts raging in his head somewhat. Instead, they had only made things worse. Deep down, Phillip knew that he had wanted to see an admission from his parents that what the Barnums had told him was the truth. A flash of guilt, or shame, or the same ‘puppy in a wet patch’ look that Helen and Caroline had when they were caught red handed causing mischief, maybe even a confession. But he had seen none of those things, and he had no idea who to believe, or what to do now. Sitting forwards, he wrenched his desk drawer open violently and grabbed the whiskey and spare glass that he kept there - just another thing that he and Phineas had in common, his mind supplied unhelpfully. Desperate to quieten his frazzled mind, he hurriedly poured himself a glass, spilling just as much over the desk in his haste.

It wasn’t until he had taken his first mouthful that common sense caught up. The realisation that he was turning back to his old behaviours pre-circus struck him and the alcohol suddenly tasted more sour than lemon juice in his mouth. He didn’t want to be that person again. Clamping down on the urge to retch, he sprang out of his seat and dashed to the door, throwing it open and leaning out enough to spit his first mouthful back out and onto the sun baked earth. He had kept the bottle in his hand absentmindedly, and it seemed to be mocking him, tempting him. _‘You need me’_ It seemed to say. With an angry cry, he drew his arm back and hurled it away, feeling a sense of satisfaction as it shattered on the hard ground, the despised liquid seeping into the soil.

For a few seconds, he stood in the doorway of the caravan, taking in deep lungful’s of air as the short adrenalin rush subsided. It was only then that he realised that, while satisfying, throwing and smashing a glass bottle hadn’t been his most clever idea. One of the animals could hurt themselves on it, or a performer or even Caroline or Helen. He quickly shoved the last thought out of his head. It hurt too much to think about any of the Barnums right now. Groaning, he walked over to the debris and crouched down, carefully beginning to gather up the biggest pieces of broken glass. He would need to come back with a dustpan for the smaller shards.

“What on Earth was that noise?” Lettie’s voice suddenly broke the silence as she rounded the corner of the caravan, making Phillip jump and accidently drive a fragment of the bottle into the heel of his hand. “If that’s you protesters again, I swear that I will….oh,”.

The singer’s tirade was cut short at the sight of her friend and boss kneeling on the ground, besides the remains of what was obviously once a bottle of whiskey, cradling his injured hand that was now oozing blood. For a moment, she just stared, her expression unreadable, while Phillip could barely bring himself to meet her eyes.

“You doing that to spite him, honey?” she asked him after a few long moments, walking over to him, her skirts swishing.

“Hmmm?” Phillip asked, confused.

“Come on, Flip. Everyone knows that you and P.T have had some kind of argument, and that he hates it when you drink excessively. So, I’ll ask again, are you trying to spite him?” Lettie said, hunkering down beside him. Her tone was in it's usual, no nonsense form but her expression was sympathetic and non-judgemental.  

“Everyone knows that we fought?”

“Yep,” Lettie said matter of factly, popping the ‘p’ “No one knows what about though, just that there were raised voices,” she reached for his hand, tugging it into her lap so that she could inspect the damage properly.

“It’s not in deep,” he said as the woman hissed in sympathy.

“You’re lucky,” she replied, gently plucking the shard out, apologising when he flinched and instinctively tried to pull his hand back.

“So you are definite that no one overheard what we were arguing about?” he asked as she pulled a clean handkerchief out and began to apply pressure to the wound to stem the blood.

“Definite” She answered, looking at him curiously, but thankfully not asking for clarification. “If it makes you feel better, he walked right into the booby trap that Constantine set.” She said, getting a ghost of a smile in return.

“There you go, that’s better,” she grinned, chucking him under the chin lightly “We’ve got enough on our plates with him being a mopey sod without you turning into one was well,”.

They sat in silence for a while, until the cut on his palm stopped bleeding.

“I don’t know what went on between you, but if it’s any consolation, he and Charity care about you as if you are one of their own, and he would never willingly do anything to hurt you,” she said softly, wrapping the handkerchief around his hand as a makeshift bandage.

Phillip murmured something non-committedly and Lettie laughed.

“You two are like two peas in a pod, you know that?” she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek, missing the flash of distress that shot across his face at her words. He only had a few seconds to reflect on them however, before she distracted him by doing the ‘mother’ thing, licking her thumb and using it to rub away the lipstick mark she had left behind on his skin, cackling when he wriggled and fussed at her.

“I wasn’t drinking to spite him,” Phillip said, answering her earlier question, feeling a flutter of guilt, because initially, that had been part of the reason that he reached for the bottle. “I couldn’t even swallow any of it in the end. I didn’t want to go back there,”.

The woman smiled in return and squeezed his uninjured hand.

“I’ll get a stage hand to come and clean this mess up.” She said, standing up and brushing down her skirts. “You go and find Anne. She has been like a bear with a sore head ever since you left as well,”.

Oh gosh, Anne.

Phillip remembered how harsh he had been to her earlier, just brushing her aside and storming off without even a second thought until now. Although, truth be told, he had barely registered that it was her at the time, all he had known in that moment was that he needed to go and get answers from somewhere.

He practically ran the short distance to her caravan and knocked on the door frantically, the guilt making him feel sick. He didn’t have time to consider what he would do if it was her brother standing there before it creaked open. While he and W.D got on much better these days, he had no doubt that there would be retaliation for him hurting his sister. However, only Anne was there, now dressed in her every day dress and holding a hairbrush in one hand. Seeing who it was, she huffed at him and turned her back, but at least she didn’t slam the door in his face. She walked back into the caravan a couple of paces, and Phillip followed her, taking it as an unspoken invitation to enter. She had resumed brushing her hair, and he walked up behind her, gently taking the brush out of her hand.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, beginning to gently run the brush through her long, silky locks. It was already tangle free, and the soothing motion caused some of the angry tension to seep out of her, her shoulders slumping as she exhaled. She loved it when he brushed and ran his fingers through her hair, and it was a pass time that both of them found therapeutic.

“You pushed me away,” she said softly, “Instead of opening up to me,”.

Phillip flinched. The hurt in her tone was like a knife twisting in his heart. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“We’re a couple. We are supposed to talk to each other,”.

“I know,” he said, pausing his ministrations to remove a stray hair pin that had been left in. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, I did, I just - I was told something…something that was…I don’t know, but I was all over the place, and I needed to get my head around it before I could even think about telling anyone else,”.

“And I kind of cornered you,” Anne murmured sympathetically.

“You had no way of knowing,” Phillip said, setting the brush aside in favour of playing with her hair instead, scooping it all up and letting it fall, strand by strand against her neck. “To be honest, I barely knew you were there. I hardly knew anything at all,” he wrapped a lock of her hair around his forefinger, admiring the way it caught the light, strands of red, orange and bronze gleaming amongst the dark brown. “I’m sorry. But believe me, upsetting you is the last thing on Earth I ever want to do,”.

Anne turned around with a sad smile, holding her arms out to him as an invitation for a hug.

“It’s alright, sweetie. I’m not angry or upset anymore,”.

Phillip buried his face into the juncture of her shoulder, breathing in her scent and taking a few deep breaths. The brunette waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts, stroking his back gently and humming under her breath.

Once he started explaining, it all came out in a great big rush. Everything P.T and Charity had come to him with, his confrontation with his mother and father, his uncertainty over both sets of 'parent's. 

Afterwards, Anne sat on her cot to try to process everything that she had just heard while Phillip paced up and down the short length of the caravan, all applications for him to sit down falling on deaf ears. He was far too tightly wound up to sit still even for a second at that present moment in time.

"It explains so much, though. Why I don't look like either my mother or my father, why they only had one child..." Phillip said, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly, making it stand up every which way.

"P.T's parents only had one. My mother only had two,".

"Your parents and P.T's didn't have a fortune to safeguard though,".

Ah, the whole heir and a few spares thing. It was true most of the elite liked to have at least two children, preferably more, to ensure that the family's legacy would definitely get passed on to someone blood related. Queen Victoria was pregnant with her 9th child if the rumours were true.

"So you think that Charity and P.T are telling the truth?"

"I don't know. Either they are or my parents are.".

She found it hard to believe that Charity and P.T would concoct this whole thing as a joke. They both knew some of Phillip's issues with his parents, not all of them, but enough to know that making that sort of joke at his expense would be like teasing Lettie about her beard, or making fun of Charles' height. The couple were many things but they were never knowingly cruel. She didn't think this was some lie stemming from some twisted desire for a male heir either. They simply didn't think like that. 

"Well, who seems like the most likely to lie?" Anne asked.

Phillip didn't need to ponder on it, his parents were born manipulators, it came to them as easily as breathing. He should know, he had grown up watching them plot and scheme, trample on people and tear others down, at times for the smallest of offences. "My parents," Phillip whispered. "But..."

"But what?"

"Maybe P.T and Charity really did have a son that was adopted. Maybe he is out there somewhere but they have got the wrong person. How do I know that this private investigator got it right? How do I know he did his research properly? Or maybe they are just making it up. I don't know what to believe right now.". 

He flopped down beside her on the cot, putting his head in his hands with a frustrated groan. Anne reached out to rub his back gently, at a complete loss as to what to say and for a few minutes the couple sat in silence.

"There is someone else," Phillip said eventually, raising his head. "Someone I might get a straight answer from."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was more of a filler chapter, but I hope you enjoyed the Carwheeler and big sister Lettie scenes. The next chapter is going to be a long one, and it's taking a bit more time to write, but I promise to have it up as soon as I can.


	7. The truth is revealed?

* * *

Chapter 7

Phillip hoped that his early arrival at the circus the next morning meant that it would be a simple case of entering the circus undetected, meeting Anne and then the two of them making a quick getaway in a carriage before anyone realised that he was even there. Unfortunately, that was not to be. He was accosted as soon as he entered the circus grounds by a certain Phineas T Barnum.

“Phillip, are you alright, son?” the ringleader asked worriedly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “What did you do to your hand?”.

“Don’t call me that!” Phillip snapped, wrenching away from the offending touch.

The older man winced, mentally kicking himself.

“Sorry, force of habit,” he apologised, raising both hands up in a placating way.

It was true that Phineas had took to calling Phillip ‘son’ quite a lot over the last several months, an endearment that, before yesterday, Phillip had welcomed.

“Seriously though, are you alright? You took off so suddenly last night…”

“Were you waiting out here for me?” Phillip asked.

. “I was worried about you. You ran off in such a state…”

“And who put me in that state?” Phillip muttered bitterly.

Phineas chose to ignore that comment, opting to carry on as if the younger man had not said anything. “And then you didn’t get back to your apartment until well after ten o clock,”.

“How did you know that I didn’t get back to my apartment until after ten o clock?” Phillip asked, rage filling him as realisation hit. “Were you waiting outside my apartment for me to get back?!”

“I needed to know that you were alright. You ran off, and I didn’t know where you were, or what you were doing…”

Phillip snorted. “I know that you keep on trying to tell me that you are my father, but seriously, I’m a grown man, and it is up to me where I go and what I do. I don’t need you lurking outside my apartment waiting for me to get home safe. I have been looking after myself for long enough without your _fatherly_ help,”.

Hands clenched, he tried to side step the older man and proceed into the circus tent, only to be stopped by Phineas’ hand on his arm, causing him to flinch instinctively.

“Whether or not you believe me, I care about you and would never have forgiven myself if anything happened to you,” the ringmaster said lowly, struggling to contain his frustration with the younger’s stubbornness. “Yes, I waited outside your apartment because I _needed_ to know that you were safe at home. I stayed out of sight out of respect for your wishes to be left alone,”.

Phillip shrugged, feeling too emotionally tired to deal with any of it at that certain time.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

“Please, Flip,” Phineas whispered sadly. “Can we not just talk about this like adults? We could go somewhere, just me, you, and your mother,”.

“I’m busy today,” Phillip answered coldly, his harshness a defence to keep his emotions from taking control. He was aware, however, that he would need to talk to the two of them about the situation, one way or the other.

“O.K,” Phineas said, hand slipping from Phillip’s arm. “We will need to talk about it at some point though. There is still stuff that you need to hear,”.

“I know,” Phillip said inaudibly as the older man walked away.

**********************************************************************************

“Are you alright, sis?”

Anne Wheeler was jerked out of her thoughts by her older brother’s voice.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” she asked.

“You just seem a bit distracted…and you’ve been drying that plate for the last five minutes,”.

“Oh,” Anne studied the piece of crockery in her hand before setting it back on the shelf, before rummaging around in one of the drawers for a clean napkin.

W.D. watched his sister bustle around their caravan’s small kitchen area. “Who is that for?” he asked, as she wrapped two slices of thick-cut bacon and a large hunk of bread up in the napkin.

“Phillip,” she replied, merely mentioning his name bringing a smile to her lips. “While we are on the subject of Phillip, I am going out with him this morning to help him with something, so I am not going to be able to rehearse with you, if that’s alright?”.

“Sure, where are the two of you going?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that he needs to speak with someone and I offered to go along as well as moral support. He is coming here first, and then we are getting a carriage,”

“Has this got anything to do with the argument that he had with Barnum last night?”

“I can’t tell you what this is about. It’s private and personal for him, and it’s really not my place to say, it’s his. As and when he wants to,”.          

“Phillip’s alright though, isn’t he?”

Anne smiled at the hint of worry she picked up in her brother’s gruff tone. Despite being extremely distrustful of the former playwright to start off with, the two of them had grown a lot closer since the events of the fire. Heck, the whole circus had become a really close knit family, and if something was upsetting one of them, it affected the whole group.

“He will be,” she said, hoping that he didn’t pick up on the false brightness in her tone. Because, in truth, she didn’t know if he was going to be alright. If it turned out that P.T and Charity were lying about being his parents, she didn’t know how he would get over it, or how he would be able to continue to work at the circus.

**********************************************************************************

"Phillip?"

Phillip groaned and didn't even try to resist the urge to roll his eyes as he saw Charity scurrying over to him, a tentative, hopeful smile on her face.

"How are you?" she asked softly as she fell into step with him, earning herself a humourless laugh.

"Oh, I'm just great," he said sarcastically, exiting the circus ring before spinning on his heel to face her. "Seriously, how do you think I am?"

She flinched at his harsh tone, casting her eyes downwards and biting her lip.

"I know it's been a massive shock. It was to us as well but..."

"Oh don't start all that again," he spat. "It's getting us, it's getting me, absolutely nowhere,".

A lock of his hair had broken free of it's usually coifed style and now hung down over his brow, dangling in his eyes and he pushed it back into place angrily as he stomped up the steps of the caravan and into the dark interior.

"Phillip. Please, can we talk about this?" Charity almost begged, dashing in after him.

"No," the brunin replied shortly, swearing under his breath as the same strand of hair flopped over his forehead again.

"What happened to your hand?" the blonde woman asked softly, trying a different tact.

Phillip glanced down at the injured appendage. Anne had insisted on thoroughly cleaning the cut up and bandaging it properly before he left her caravan to return home the night before. 'I took one sip' Phillip had admitted to her at the time 'And then decided that it would be better off being thrown away than drank'. The trapeze artist had looked torn between being happy that he had refrained from drinking himself stupid and exasperated at his clumsiness.

"Nothing," he muttered, making an exaggerated show of paying more attention to fixing his un-cooperative hairstyle than to the woman in front of him.

He knew that he was acting like a brat, but he couldn't bring himself to lower the defensive walls he had built around him, he couldn't expose himself only to get hurt later down the line if it turned out that he wasn't Phineas and Charity's son. He definitely couldn't handle any more stories off them or his 'parents' until he managed to get a bit of investigation done himself.

"Phillip," Charity sighed, startling him when she reached out to gently brush the offending lock of hair back into it's proper place, where it then had the absolute cheek to stay. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and Phillip almost felt bad. Almost.

"I can't..." he whispered as her gentle fingers stroked over his forehead again. He could feel the cracks in his carefully built up defenses start to appear, spider webbing out and he knew that if he wasn't cautious, they would all crumble. Gently, he gripped her wrist, lowering it from his face before releasing it. His skin tingled from the soothing touch, and it scared him how much he missed the maternal contact.

"O.K." the woman sighed resignedly, disappointment showing on her face "I'll leave you alone. But I just want you to know that I never wanted to give you up. You were taken from me, and I promised that I would find you again. And I will always be here. Even if it takes you years to believe us, I will not give up on you,".

Slowly, she turned around and walked out of the office, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Phillip stood and listened to her footsteps as they faded away, blinking back tears of pain and frustration.  

**********************************************

Anne was already outside her and her brother’s caravan waiting for him by the time Phillip finally got to her caravan.

“Hey,” she said softly, greeting him with a chaste kiss on the lips.

“I’m sorry, I’m late, aren’t I?”

Anne shrugged.

“Just a little bit. Did you…see P.T. and Charity?” she asked tentatively. She knew that they were at the circus, she had heard their voices and guessed that they would make a beeline for Phillip if they knew that he was there as well.

“Yes,”

“How did that go?”

“About as well as you’d expect,” he said quietly, a distant look appearing in his eyes for a second before he changed the subject. “Are you sure you still want to come with me today? Because you don’t have to if…”

“I want to,” Anne said firmly, trying to keep the exasperation out of her tone. She hated the fact that Phillip felt that he couldn’t ask or accept help from his girlfriend, or anyone else in their circus family for that matter, without worrying that he was being a burden. She knew that it stemmed from his so called father making him feel useless and worthless, even when he did exactly what he wanted him to and the years of such treatment had understandably left their mark.

Phillip flashed her a small smile, tired but genuine.

“We’d better get going then, it’s a long journey,” he said, taking her hand and kissing each knuckle before tucking it into the crook of his arm.

“So we’re going to see your old nanny?” she asked on the walk to the carriage stop.

“Yeah. She was my mother’s companion before that though. They’ve been friends since they were both sixteen, were inseparable for years. If my parents really did adopt me, then she’ll have known,”.

“Where does she live now?”

“The convent of St Adela. She decided to retire there when I was sixteen. She was my mother’s companion again by that point. The decision came out of nowhere. She just came down to breakfast one morning and said that she had a calling that she couldn’t ignore anymore. My mother was not best pleased”.

He cursed when he saw that the carriage point was once again empty of all vehicles.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Anne reassured, perching on a nearby wall. “You hungry?” she asked, pulling out the bread and bacon and offering it to him.

Phillip hesitated, food was the last thing that he wanted really.

Anne rolled her eyes. “Come on, I bet you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning,”.

Despite previously thinking that he wasn’t hungry, as soon as the smell of bacon hit his nostrils, his stomach rumbled loudly and before he knew it, he had all but inhaled it and the bread.

“I thought that you were going to swallow the napkin as well, for a moment,” Anne teased before dodging him with a squeal when he reached out to tickle her. She was saved from torture, however, by a carriage rounding the corner and pulling up at the stop.

**********************************************

“We’re here now, sir, miss.”

Anne sighed in relief. The carriage journey had been a long one, made worse by all of the weekend traffic on the road at the time. That, coupled with the hard, lumpy carriage seats and Anne’s dislike of sitting still for more than five minutes, it hadn’t been the most comfortable of rides. Still, she would ride a thousand miles on a cushion filled with broken glass if Phillip needed her.

“Flip?” she asked, freezing with one hand on the door and one leg dangling out of the carriage when she realized that he had yet to move. Instead, he had remained in the same position, staring ahead with an unfocused gaze and absentmindedly picking at his bandage with his uninjured hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swinging her leg back in and closing the carriage door again. The driver, very patiently and obligingly, clambered down from his seat and began fussing with one of the horse’s bridles, giving them the space and time that they needed.

“If I don’t get a definite answer today, I don’t know what I will do. It’s driving me mad already,” Phillip answered.

“Well,” Anne replied, pausing as she tried to come up with a comforting answer. “If you don’t get a definite answer today, there are other things we can try, like…going to the private investigator, or maybe hiring our own and investigating the whole thing from scratch, or another one of your parents’ friends? Surely others would have known, or at the very least been suspicious if you were adopted,”

“I suppose so,” Phillip said, trying to feel a bit more heartened by that. “I’m sorry, I’m just…”

“Bone tired,” Anne finished for him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Let’s just see if your old nanny can tell us anything before we worry about what to do next,”.

The convent was a large building, made of red brick and accessed by a large gravel path that bisected the neat, well-tended garden. A nun was coming out of the front door just as the pair were climbing up the porch steps and she eyed them warily as they approached.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a cool, but civil tone. Her eyes dropped to where Anne’s hand was tucked into Phillip’s elbow and her expression soured. Feeling self-conscious, Anne fought the urge to pull away. As if expecting her to try to do just that, Phillip reached up and gripped her hand in his free one.

“I’m Phillip Carlyle and this is Anne Wheeler. We’re here to see Julia Bradbury. Is she available?”

The nun held the door open a little wider, her expression not changing.

“Come in sir, I’ll find out for you. Although I’m afraid your… _servant_ … will have to use the back entrance,”

Phillip tensed, drawing in a short, sharp breath while Anne didn’t react, being used to that type of treatment all the time. She couldn’t see her lover’s expression, but it must have been murderous if the way the sister took a nervous step backwards was anything to go by. When he spoke, his voice was the iciest that she had ever heard it.

“She’s my girlfriend _and_ my equal. She either comes through the front entrance or we both go through the back entrance and from there, straight to your mother superior to have a word about your conduct, Sister…?”

“Margaret,” the woman said in a small voice. “Sister Margaret. My apologies. Come in please, both of you,”

Anne and Phillip stepped over the threshold into a spacious and plainly furnished hall

“Wait here. I’ll go and tell mother superior that you are here and find out if you can see sister Julia,”.With that, the woman left the two of them alone in the hall.

Phillip was shaking, rage still flowing through him, gathering like an approaching tempest. He couldn’t fathom why anyone thought someone was inferior purely because of the colour of their skin, and a nun was one of the last people he expected to hear that kind of racial abuse from.

“Hey, it’s o.k.” Anne said softly, squeezing his shoulder. “I’m used to it,”

“It’s not o.k. She should never have said that,”

“I know, but please don’t cause a fuss. Let’s just focus on the task in hand,”

Phillip wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t say anything else. It was a different nun who came to fetch them, a young woman, little more than a child who greeted them with a friendly smile.

“Good morning. I am Sister Adelaide. Our Mother Superior sends her apologies that she cannot greet you in person, but she is tied up with meetings and other duties all day. She says that you and Sister Julia can use her drawing room though, if you’d care to follow me,”

This new, friendly sister led them down a series of winding corridors to a small, cosy drawing room, with soft, comfy sofas and an ornate coffee table.

“It’s so nice that Sister Julia has visitors. She doesn’t get many these days. She’ll be down shortly. You two make yourselves comfortable and I will fetch some coffee. Unless you would prefer tea?”

“Coffee is fine,” Phillip answered with a small smile.

“Right. I’ll be right back,”

With that, the young Sister scampered off.

“She is so sweet,” Anne commented, sitting beside Phillip on one of the sofas, trying to think of something to say to ease the nervous tension that had fallen over both of them.

In the end, she didn’t get the chance to say anything as the sound of the soft pattering of feet reached their ears and a few seconds later the drawing room door opened, revealing a middle aged woman who Anne took to by Julia Bradbury.

Phillip couldn’t help but be a bit taken aback by the sight of his old nanny. The years had not been kind, to say the least. Julia was the same age as his mother, but she looked at least ten years older, her hair had gone fully grey, almost white in colour and her face was etched with lines. Her habit hung off her gaunt frame, and she was walking with a very stiff gait. But her sunny smile and warm blue eyes were the same and the hug she gave him was as comforting and as affectionate as it had always been.

“Phillip,” she cried happily. “You look wonderful, darling. How many years has it been now?”

“Three,” Phillip answered sheepishly, citing the number of years it had been since he had last seen her “I’m sorry, I should have visited sooner…”

“It’s fine, dear,” she said, stroking his cheek gently. “You’re a very busy person, writing plays…you do still write plays?”

“No, I stopped doing that, due to becoming part-owner of a circus,”.

“Barnum’s circus? I’ve heard good things about that. Some bad things as well, but mostly good,” she said and then chuckled. “You always were full of surprises,”

Her eyes landed on Anne and she swatted her former charge on the arm playfully.

“Did I not teach you any manners? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Of course! Sorry, this is Anne Wheeler, my girlfriend,”

The matter of fact way he said the word ‘girlfriend’ made Anne smile as she rose to her feet to greet her boyfriend’s old nanny.

“Gosh, you are so pretty,” the Sister said warmly, clasping Anne’s hand in two of her own, no hint of disapproval in her tone or expression at all.

“Thank you,” Anne said, blushing slightly.

“Unfortunately not everyone here has been as accepting as you,” Phillip muttered.

“Sister Margaret?” Julia enquired, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s the one,” Phillip replied.

Julia smiled mischievously. “Yes, she is a bit of a horror, that one. My apologies, Miss Wheeler. Not all of my Christian friends here think Christian things,”

The door burst back open at that point, and Sister Adelaide hurried back in, carrying a tray laden with a silver coffee pot and four china mugs.

“Thank you, Sister Adelaide, dear.” Julia said gratefully, squeezing the girl’s shoulder in thanks. “Come and sit,” she said to Anne and Phillip.

Once the coffee had been poured, and an acceptable amount of small talk had been exchanged, which mainly consisted Julia asking them about their work at the circus, they got down to the matter at hand.

“As thrilled as I am to see you, dear, I can’t help but feel you had another motive for coming other than sitting and chatting with an old woman?” Julia said, setting down her coffee mug and fixing Phillip with a look, the look that said ‘Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours and don’t even think about giving me any nonsense’.

He took a deep breath, and felt Anne give his hand an encouraging squeeze.

“Yesterday, I had an…interesting chat with my business partner, P.T Barnum and his wife, Charity. You may know Charity, her maiden name is Hallet?”  

Recognition dawned on the woman’s face. _‘She knows her, or of her at the very least’_ Phillip thought to himself as he pressed on.

“They told me…they told me that they had me out of wedlock when they were sixteen. P.T was working on the railway lines at the time, and Charity’s parents were so furious about the pregnancy that they intercepted all of her letters to him and kept her as a prisoner in the family home until she gave birth. At which point, they put the baby…they put me, up for adoption,”

For a few moments, the old woman said nothing, staring into her mug as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. When she looked up, Phillip swore that there were tears in her eyes for a second, and then she blinked and they were gone.

“Phillip, dear, the first thing that you need to know is that I loved your mother. I loved her like a sister. There was nothing that I wouldn’t do for her, and she was so desperate for a child,”

“So it is true?” Phillip breathed.

Julia nodded.

“It is,”

She said something else after that, but for the former play wright, it went in one ear and out the other. Absentmindedly, he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the dark locks lightly until Anne reached for him, taking hold of his arms and gently lowering them. Julia had risen from her seat and was fluttering around him, asking questions worriedly.

“Just give him a minute,” Anne instructed her gently, shoving a fresh, full mug of coffee into his hand. “Here, Flip, have a sip of this,”

He tried, but he was shaking that badly that in the end she had to reach out and help to steady him.

“Good, and another one,” she coaxed once the first sip had gone down, smoothing his hair with her free hand. “You back with me?” he nodded.

“How much do you know?” Julia asked him once he had calmed down a bit, rounding the table and going back to her seat.

“Not much,” Anne answered for him, getting another mouthful of coffee into him. “Just what the Barnums told him - what he just told you. He went to his parents but they denied it all,”

“They would have done,” Julia muttered bitterly. “How long have the Barnums known for?”

“Not long,” Phillip replied. “They had a private investigator searching for me. He found out who their son was through some inaccuracies in the hospital records when I was born, or something like that,”

“And you had been working at the circus all along?”

Phillip nodded.

“Small world,” the woman said softly. “Well, I suppose you had better hear the full story now,” she took a deep steadying breath and when she spoke again her eyes and voice were distant, and Anne and Phillip knew she had gone somewhere else, to a different time, in her mind.

“Your mother - or Prudence, I suppose I should say now, married your fa… Emerson when she was 25, which is above the average age for a woman of her status. It was an arranged marriage of convenience but the two of them did become rather fond of each other over the following months. As her companion I moved with her to her new husband’s estate. We were so close, all three of us, at one point and there was nothing that I wouldn’t do for either of them. They wanted a large family so badly, they would both boast about the brood of fine male heirs and well accomplished daughters they would produce, but, unfortunately, that wasn’t to be,” the Sister paused to take a sip of coffee before continuing, “Forgive me, this warm air plays havoc on my throat. Prudence and Emerson tried for five years to conceive a child, without an ounce of luck, although you already know that part, dear,”

Someone rapped on the door suddenly, making all three of them jump, before Sister Adelaide poked her head through.

“What is it, dear?” Julia asked impatiently.

“Sorry for interrupting. I was wondering if you and your friends required anything else?”

“We’re fine, honey, thank you,” Julia replied kindly.

“The cook just made some fresh biscuits? I could bring a plate up?”

“No, thank you dear,” this time her tone was definitely more clipped.

“Right. Sorry,” the young nun apologized before ducking out again.

“Now, where was I? Oh yes, they failed to conceive a child after five years of marriage, and in the end they had to admit that they were not going to produce one via that channel. However, Emerson needed an heir, and they decided that their only other option was to adopt a child discreetly and pass it off as their own. Both Emerson and Prudence wanted a baby from a high born mother and it wasn’t long before they found a possible candidate. A close family friend’s younger sister had gotten pregnant out of wedlock by a merchant’s son, whose whereabouts at the time were unknown. Knowing Emerson and Prudence’s situation, this family friend offered them the baby once it was born, to save his sister from scandal. Both Prudence and Emerson were overjoyed, and quickly concocted a lie about Prudence being pregnant before both I and she went to Austria for sixth months, where no one knew us and where we could hide the fact that she wasn’t actually pregnant at all. However, one month before the baby was due to be born, the merchant’s son returned, wanting to take responsibility for the child and its mother. Her parents were reluctant to see their daughter marry down but they loved her dearly and she so desperately wanted to keep the baby - and marry the merchant’s son. So they were wed, and the deal with Prudence and Emerson was broken off. Prudence was distraught, to the point where I truly worried for her health and well-being. Emerson redoubled his efforts to find a baby in need of adoption, and about two weeks later, heard about a baby boy that had been born in an attic, and whose prospective adoptive family had changed their minds just a few days after his birth. He got in touch with the biological mother’s family, a Mr and Mrs Hallet, and they agreed to let him and Prudence have the baby,”

Phillip took a deep shuddering breath. “And that was me?” he said, more of a statement than a question.

“Yes dear, it was you. Your mother had asked if I would be the baby’s nanny, and I happily agreed. I was with them when they went to collect you from the Hallets’ house,” a pained look crossed the woman’s face. “I think it was easy for them to pretend that you were theirs by not seeing your biological mother, so Emerson and Prudence waited downstairs while I went upstairs with Charity’s father to take you from her. Prudence regularly relied on me to do her dirty work. I did some horrible things on her behalf - things that I knew at the time were wrong - but she always knew the right words to say to convince me to go along with it. I could never say no to her although I’ve got no one to blame but myself for taking part. Of all the nasty deeds I carried out, snatching you, and I do mean snatching you, out of your sobbing, teenage mother’s arms was probably the worst,”

Phillip sat forwards, running his hands through his hair and trying to comprehend everything that he had just heard.

“They were telling the truth,” he said. “And I’ve been so horrible to them ever since,”

Anne reached for him, rubbing his arm lightly.

“You didn’t know. Your reaction was perfectly normal and I’m sure that they both understand why you acted like that,” she said softly.

Phillip nodded, still in a daze. Julia eyed him sympathetically.

“In the end, I couldn’t take it anymore, living with your parents. All of the bullying of people, the cheating, the subterfuge that went on, I didn’t want to live my life like that anymore. The guilt of all of the things that I had done, including taking you, started to eat at me, and that was when I decided that I had to get out of that house,”

“That’s when you came here?”

Julia nodded.

“I had been toying with the idea for months before I left. As much as I didn’t want to stay by Prudence’s side anymore, it isn’t easy to walk away from pretty much all that you have ever known” The woman sighed regretfully. “Although, it also meant that I left you behind,”

Phillip reached out and took her frail hand as a silent reassurance that he didn’t blame her or resent her in any way. Her weathered skin felt like dry parchment, the bones as delicate as a baby bird’s wing, serving to remind him of the toll his parents had taken on the lady before him.

“I should have told you then and there. You were sixteen, you could have dealt with truth and maybe found your real parents sooner, but you loved Prudence, respected Emerson. I thought that breaking up the family unit wasn’t the right thing to do. Plus, your father threatened that if I tried anything of the sort, he would have me put in the asylum on the basis that I had become insane,”

Phillip winced. He had no doubt that his father - Emerson, had the connections and friends to make such a thing happen in order to protect his secret.

“Thank you, for telling me all this. I can start to move forwards now,” he said, gratefully and sincerely.

He checked his pocket watch, more to give himself something to do, and was shocked to see how late it actually was.

“It’s late. We’ve got a show to do, so we should probably be getting back,” he said to his former nanny apologetically.

Julia rose to her feet, as did Phillip and Anne.

“I will send for a carriage for you both,” she said, brushing down her habit absentmindedly. “And Phillip,” she reached out to touch his shoulder. “I know that I have no right to ask it of you, giving what I did, but do you think you have it in you to forgive an old woman?”

The idea of feeling resentful towards the woman hadn’t even crossed Phillip’s mind. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry at her over the part that she had played in his ‘adoption’. After all, he knew better than most how nasty and manipulative Emerson and Prudence Carlyle could be.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he murmured, pecking the dry, wrinkled cheek. “I’ll come and visit you again soon,”

Julia smiled, eyes filling with tears before she crossed over to Anne, pulling her into a warm embrace.

“Look after him,” she whispered in the trapeze artist’s ear.

“I always do,” Anne answered softly.

“That’s what I like to here,” Julia said happily, stepping back.

“What is?” Phillip asked from the doorway.

“Nothing,” Anne called back sweetly.

“Woman stuff, dear,” Julia continued as she exchanged mischievous smiles with the younger woman.

 

Sister Margaret was the one to show them out, much to the couple’s disappointment. Phillip came to a standstill in the threshold, despite Anne’s attempts to hurry him along to the carriage that was waiting outside.

“If I were you, Sister, I would brush up on the book of Acts. Particularly Verse 10, chapter 34-35,” he said acidly.

The Sister fixed him with a blank look, getting an angry snort in response.

“ ‘Opening his mouth, Peter said ‘I most certainly understand that God is not one to show partiality, but in every nation the man who fears Him and does what is right is welcome to Him,” Phillip quoted. “Look it up,”

With that, he took Anne’s hand, interlaced their fingers and strode out of the door and down the steps of the nunnery without another word, leaving a very red faced nun in his wake.

“Are you alright?” Anne asked once they were both seated in the carriage and heading back towards the city.

“I don’t know,” Phillip sighed, taking his hat off and setting it in his lap “I just feel numb,”

“That’s understandable, it was a lot to take in,”

Frowning in concern, Anne reached up and gently brushed her finger tips over the dark circles under her boyfriend’s eyes.

“You look shattered,” she murmured.

Phillip chuckled despite himself. “Thanks,”

“Seriously, did you get _any_ sleep last night?”

“No, not really,”

“You should lie down,” Anne said, holding her arm out invitingly.

Phillip gave her an incredulous look. “In here?”

“Why not?”

It was a bit of a squash, but he managed to maneuver himself so that he was curled up on his side on the cushioned bench of the carriage with his head resting in Anne’s lap, the trapeze artist’s fingers carding through his hair just how he liked it. He thought that it would be impossible to sleep with all the thoughts running through his head, but Anne’s fingers finding _that_ spot behind his right ear, coupled with the gentle rocking motion of the carriage soon had him slipping into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Phillip now knows the truth! Let me know what you think.
> 
> I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can.


	8. The beginnings of building bridges

The carriage jolting to a halt was what jerked Anne out of the doze she had fallen into, and it took her a few seconds to get her bearings as the dark interior of the vehicle came into focus. Outside, the carriage driver had gotten into a rather loud confrontation with another driver, and the language that was being thrown about between the two men would have been enough to make even Constantine blush. Glancing down, she saw that Phillip was still sound asleep in her lap, which was pretty amazing given the fact that it sounded like a civil war was about to erupt outside. _'He must be exhausted'_ she thought to herself. Seeing as the argument was showing no signs of calming down, she supposed that they could stay where they were for another minute or two. Phillip shifted in his sleep, humming happily as she brushed a stray strand of hair off his forehead, long eyelashes fluttering for a moment where they were fanned over his cheeks. Anne had to pinch herself yet again to believe that this beautiful man was hers and she wondered what it would be like to wake up to him like this every morning. He reached for her blindly with his hand, and Anne realised that he had the tip of one of her curls wrapped around two of his fingers. He had always had a thing for her hair. He was constantly stroking it, toying with it or giving it a playful tug when he was being affectionate, comforting or flirtatious. And at times like these, when he was stressed or upset or just really tired, he would absentmindedly touch and fiddle with it, almost as if it was a comfort blanket for him. It was a habit that the trapeze artist found particularly adorable.

Outside, the row seemed to be coming to an end, the two drivers exchanging final insults with each other.

"Flip," Anne cooed, stroking his forehead and tugging on his hand. "We're here now. You need to wake up,"

The man groaned softly, and Anne felt a pang of guilt at being the one to disturb his peaceful slumber.

"Come on," she shook him gently, smiling when his eyes fluttered open and he blinked owlishly before settling his gaze on her.

"Hey," he said, sitting up, moaning as his stiff, cramped muscles protested the movements.

"Hey, Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Coach benches aren’t the most comfortable thing to sleep on. Are we back?" he asked, starting to straighten out his sleep-crumpled clothes.

"Yeah," she replied, reaching out to set his hair to rights. It was the least she could do, she supposed with a soft smile, seeing as she was the one who had ruffled it up so much on the journey from the abbey.

"Everything alright?" the driver asked, opening the door on Phillip's side of the carriage. Taking in the creases in the younger man's attire, he smiled crookedly and muttered some suggestive comment that had both Anne and Phillip blushing for the entire walk back to the circus.

 

"What are you going to do about P.T and Charity?" Anne asked as they crossed the short distance from the main road to the tent.

"I am going to walk into the tent and see where it goes from there," Phillip replied, wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

"But you are going to talk to them about everything today?" Anne asked, bring one hand up to twine her fingers with his.

"Yes. Tonight probably, if not before,"

"Want me to be there when you do?"

"Thanks but it is probably best if I do it on my own,"

Anne nodded her understanding before delving into her boyfriend's pocket for his time piece, so that she could check the time.

"It's late. I had better go and get ready for the show," she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, letting him pull her back in for one on the lips.

"I'll see you in the ring, Miss Wheeler,”

***************************************************************************************************************************************

 

“He has been gone ages,” Charity fussed, glancing out of the open caravan door towards the circus entrance again.

Phineas stopped pacing the floor of the office for a second and fixed her with a look.

“I’m aware of that,”

“And he didn’t say where he was going?”

“No,” Phineas replied shortly. “For the fifth time,” he muttered inaudibly before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“He didn’t say that he was going anywhere. He just said that he was busy today. I didn’t know that meant that he was going to be busy _outside_ of the circus,”

“I would have thought that would have been obvious, _honey_ ” Anne snapped.

“He wouldn’t have told me where he was going even if I did ask, _sweetheart,”_

“And you didn’t see him leave?”

Phineas groaned.

“For crying out loud, Charity. You’ve seen him today as well, why didn’t you see him leave?”

Charity bit her lip and glanced down at her shoes as if they were suddenly the most interesting things in the world.

Phineas sighed as he felt guilt flood him and he crossed the short distance between them and pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back gently.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

“So am I,” she murmured. “This is all my fault in the first place,”

“No, it’s not,” Phineas replied firmly.

“It is!” Charity said, wrenching herself away and looking at him angrily. “I let my parents take our son and give him to _them_ , of all people,”

“You did everything you could to stop them,” her husband insisted, reaching for her again. He hated seeing her this way, blaming herself for things that had been completely out of her control. It had taken years to convince her that she was not to blame for their son being taken away, and he had thought that those thoughts had finally been put to rest. Clearly they hadn’t.

“You were still a child yourself,” he said, resting his cheek on top of her head, rocking her gently. “You couldn’t have stopped them, you were on your own, completely outnumbered, while I was off working on the rail line, thinking that I was being the ideal future husband by making money, when all the while, I was actually being completely useless,”

“You _weren’t_ being useless,” Charity insisted, pulling back a little bit to look up at him “And you aren’t to blame for him being taken either. You had no way of knowing that he even existed,”

“If I had known, I would have come straight back. I would have done something,”

“I know, you don’t need to convince me of that,” she stroked her husband’s arm soothingly. “But, they did take him. We can’t change that. What matters now is that we have found him again,”

The pair sat in silence for a while.

“Do you think that he has spoken to his parents?” Phineas asked.

“Probably. I would want to. I would want to hear it from both sides,” Charity replied.

“There is no way that they would have given him the truth,” Phineas stated.

“What if he believes them? Do you think he is with them now?”

“He took Anne with him, so I doubt it. He loves Anne so there is no way that he would inflict them on her. As for whether he believes them, I think he would have left the circus by now if he did,” Phineas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think he knows what to believe,”

The sound of carriage wheels prevented Charity from responding as both Barnums craned towards the circus entrance.

“It’s Phillip,” Charity breathed in relief. “What do we do? Do you want to go and talk to him?”

“No,” Phineas said. “We will respect his wishes. He wants space, so we will give it to him,”

***************************************************************************

Phillip had half expected Phineas and Charity to pounce on him again as soon as he stepped through the entrance to the circus ring, but on this occasion, they were nowhere in sight. Phillip didn't know if he was disappointed by this or not. That was not to say, however, that there were no Barnums present at all to welcome him upon his arrival. Helen barrelled into him with the force of a small hurricane, throwing her arms around his legs and pressing her face into the fabric of his shirt.

"Hello to you too," he chuckled, before frowning in concern when he felt the slight tremors going through her small frame.

"What's wrong?"

The little girl just shook her head and squeezed him even tighter, snuggling closer as if she was trying to bury into him.

"Helen" Phillip said, in a gentle but firm tone, carefully detaching her arms from around him and kneeling down so that he was on her level.

He was suprised when he saw the tears swimming in her big, round eyes, the sight making his heart shatter. Seeing Caroline and Helen upset was one of the most heart breaking things that he had even seen. His little sisters, he realised with a pang. Actual, real sisters and not the imaginary ones that he had once invented for himself when he was eight years old.

The first tear dropped from the youngest Barnum's lashes and he gently caught it with this thumb as it made it's way down her cheek, wiping it away.

"What's wrong?" He asked again.

The child didn't answer, glancing down and beginning to twist her fingers in the pleats of her skirt, clearly not wanting to voice the thoughts in her head.

"Helen," he tipped her chin up lightly so that he could make eye contact again. "Neither of us are going anywhere until you tell me,"

Helen eyed him, the usual Barnum stubbornness in her expression for a moment before she caved. She knew that Phillip was serious, and he could be just as stubborn as she was.

"I was playing hide and seek with Caroline, and I was hiding behind the bleachers when I heard two of the stage hands talking," she paused to rub her eyes vigorously.

"And what were they saying?" Phillip coaxed, smoothing her hair.

"They said...They said that you and Daddy had a massive row and that you weren't even on speaking terms with him anymore and that you are going to leave the circus," Helen choked out, a steady stream of tears flowing from her eyes now. When she looked at him, she looked scared. Scared of what his answer was going to be, he realised as he pulled her flush to him.

"They got it wrong," he said, standing up as Helen began to sob into his shoulder, starting to pace with her in his arms. Most of the time, Helen acted like she was seven going on sixteen, but it was occasions like this that served as a reminder of how young she really was. Phillip hated that the girls had been dragged into all of the drama between him and P.T and Charity.

"I promise you, Helen, I'm not going anywhere," he reassured, speaking softly into her ear and jiggling her on his hip as he tried to ease her misery. "Your father and I did argue, and I was mad with him for a while but I'm not anymore. We'll patch it up, we always do,".

Helen lifted her tear streaked face from his shoulder.

"Promise?"

"Promise," he replied, kissing her forehead.

"No, pinky promise,"

Phillip chuckled and wrapped his little finger around hers.

"See? You are stuck with me until I am one hundred, kiddo,"

"I love you," she mumbled, hugging him tighter. <\p>

"I love you too, kitten." <\p>

Helen meowed happily and rubbed her head against his shoulder in imitation of a kitten. She was also kneading the fabric of his jacket in her little hands, and Phillip wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a kitten thing or if it was just a general Helen thing.

*************************************************************************************************************************************** 

In the remaining couple of hours before that night’s show, P.T had managed to distance himself from Phillip beforehand by engrossing himself in running last minute rehearsals and tweaking a few minor details. Then, everyone was distracted by the daily, last minute panic, cleaning the seating area, searching for missing props and doing last minute checks before the crowds, who seemed to be arriving earlier and earlier, were allowed in.

He felt a flicker of hope when he saw Phillip in the wings during the opening act, and was so distracted that he pretty much stumbled off to the side to make room for the performers, in an unusual display of clumsiness. Standing on the opposite side of the ring, he couldn’t tear his eyes from his son. He didn’t have any qualms about shamelessly staring as he pondered the possible reasons for the young man’s reappearance at the circus. After all, while Phillip had asked for them to back off and give him space, he had not said anything about no staring. Was he starting to believe them now? Is that why he was here? Or was he here purely for Anne and the rest of the circus?

Lettie was giving him a funny look. Oh yes, that was right, he was supposed to be introducing…someone. ‘ _For crying out loud, get it together Barnum’_ he thought to himself.

After a bit of a shaky start, Phineas managed to get his head back in the game, and the rest of the show went off without a hitch. The performers obligingly mingled with the audience after the closing act, shaking hands and chatting with the adults and interacting and playing with the children. Once the crowds started trickling out of the circus in a buzz of laughter and chatter, Phillip was grabbed and pulled into a conversation by a group of other performers. He looked happier, more care free than he had in the last day or two, Phineas noticed. The younger man glanced over him, and, missing the way that his son’s mouth ticked up in a smile, Phineas quickly busied himself by scanning the bleachers for his wife and daughters. After a couple of seconds, he spotted them still huddled on the front row. Charity was fussing over Caroline, who was sitting with her head resting her shoulder, while Helen was taking advantage of her mother’s distraction by choosing to try to sit upside down in her seat.

Aware of Phillip’s eyes on him, and not wanting to make it look like he was hovering, Phineas crossed over to join the female members of his family, concern rising as he saw the tear streaks on his eldest daughter’s face.

“Oh, what’s wrong,” he asked, crouching down and brushing a stray bit of hair out of her face.

“She’s got a headache,” Charity answered for her. “She doesn’t have a fever. I think that she has got too hot in here. I’m going to take them both home now,”

“But I don’t want to go home yet,” Helen protested from her upside down position.

“Tough. Sit up properly,” Phineas ordered, smiling despite himself at the youngest girl’s pout.

He leant forwards to kiss her forehead, and then Caroline’s.

“Come on, I’ll walk you all to a carriage,”

“Are you going to talk to Phillip tonight?” Charity whispered in Phineas’ ear as the family made their way out of the circus.

“If he wants me to, then I will,”

 *****************************************************************************************************************************************

Anne yawned tiredly, stretching like a cat.

“I think I’m going to get an early night,” she said, sliding of the barrel and wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

“I’ll come with you,” Phillip said, placing one hand in the small of her back.

“Yes! Get in there lad,” Constantine cheered.

W.D thumped him hard, making the tattooed man wince.

“He meant that he’ll walk her back to her caravan,” he hissed before turning his gaze on Phillip. “That is what you meant, right?”

“Of course,” Phillip scoffed, relaxing when the other man burst out laughing.

“I’m messing with you,” the male trapeze artist said. “I know that you are not that dumb,”

“When are you going to speak to P.T and Charity?” Anne asked, once the pair had bid the other performers goodnight and started walking away.

“I was hoping to talk to them tonight, but Charity had to take Caroline home because she had a headache, and I haven’t been able to get hold of P.T. I think that he is avoiding me,”

“Don’t be daft,” Anne said.

“I did tell him to back off and give me space,” Phillip pointed out.

“Yeah but since when has Phineas T Barnum ever done anything that someone asked him to…”

Phillip missed the rest of the sentence as he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning around the former playwright caught sight of Phineas heading towards the office and for a moment, the two men made eye contact before the ringleader threw him a small smile and then proceeded to dash the rest of the way towards the caravan.

“You were saying?” Phillip said to Anne as they continued towards her caravan.

“I’ll wait here, if you want to go and see him now,”

“You think that now is the right time?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

Phillip hesitated.

“Go on,” Anne encouraged, “You will lie awake all night if you don’t,”.

“You’re right,” Phillip said, kissing her forehead before striding purposely towards the caravan, his heart beating wildly in his chest the entire time.

The older man was sat at his desk when Phillip entered, twirling a pencil absentmindedly in his fingers, a distant look on his face. He jumped when he saw who it was, sitting more upright in his chair.

“Hey,” Phillip greeted.

“Hey,” the other man, raising to his feet. “Did you need something? I can leave if you have work that you need to get done,”

“No, no. I just wanted to, erm …the thing is that…I believe you,”

“You bel…wait, run that by me again?” Phineas spluttered, not daring to believe what he was hearing.

“I believe you. And I’m not angry anymore. But it’s been one hell of a twenty four hours, and I need some more time, just to get my head around it,”

“Yes, of course, you take all of the time that you need,” Phineas said, rounding the desk. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

“Yeah, of course,”

“Well, I’ll see you then, son,” Phineas said, reaching out and gently squeezing the younger man’s shoulder. “We’ll talk more, then,”

“Yeah, definitely,”

"Just one more thing. I completely understand that you can't say this back right now, and I'm not saying it to make you uncomfortable, but your mother and I, we love you very much. We always have, and we always will," 

Phillip just smiled in return, not knowing that to say as his insides turned to molten gold.

As Phillip walked out of the caravan, he felt lighter than he had in what felt like ages.

“That was short. Did it go O.K?” Anne asked as her boyfriend walked back over to her.

Phillip didn’t answer, instead grabbing her around the waist and lifting her off her feet, pressing a passionate kiss to her lips.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she giggled as he set her back on her feet.

“I told him that I believed him, but I needed more time to get my head around it. We’ll talk more tomorrow hopefully,” he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You were right,”.

“I’m always right,” Anne replied with a smile, moving in for another kiss.

 ************************************************************************************************************************************

Phillip opted to walk the short distance back to his apartment after he dropped Anne off at her caravan. After a rather hot day, the night was cool and refreshing, and he really needed to clear his head. He exited the circus, taking a deep breath of the fresh air before turning towards home, absentmindedly humming one of the circus songs under his breath.

He couldn’t have gone more than twenty yards before he heard it. A very gently scuffling sound coming from behind him. The logical part of his brain told him that it was probably just a rat, or the stray cat that the circus had been feeding, but, as the place between his shoulder blades started to prickle, the other part of him somehow knew that the noise had been caused by the tread of a human.

 _‘It could be anyone_ ’ Phillip told himself as he stood stock still, half way between the circus and the main road, listening for the noise again. However, it probably wasn’t a bad idea to get a carriage home after all. Spinning on his heel, Phillip focused on getting to the main road, and walking down the well-lit street to the carriage point, which would no doubt be busy at this time of night. With a bit of luck, there would be someone heading in the same direction who wouldn’t mind him jumping in with them. He had almost reached the road when a cold voice rang out from behind him, the sudden noise cracking like a whip in the soft quiet of the night.

“Phillip,”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Phillip knows the truth, and is now well on the way to reconciling with Phin and Charity. But, as you have probably guessed from the last few lines, this story is far from over. 
> 
> I think that a lot of people were expecting a really warm, emotional reconciliation between Phillip and his real parents. That will happen, and there will be plenty of family scenes coming up in future chapters but I decided not write on in this chapter because it didn't seem overly realistic to do it just yet. After the 24 hours he has had, Phillip would be feeling emotionally and mentally numb and would need a while to get his head around the situation. Plus having the happy disney family moment fits in with the over all story plot further down the line, I can't really say too much about that without giving away the next couple of chapters. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope that you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think, all feedback is good feedback.


	9. Where is he?

When Phineas woke up the next morning, he felt like a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The sun was shining, and outside, the birds were singing, and, on that morning, it was one of the most beautiful things that he had ever heard. Beside him, Charity stirred, rolling over and draping her arm across his waist lightly, humming happily when he pulled her closed to him.

“Tell me what he said again,” she asked, voice heavy with sleep.

P.T chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“You sound like Helen does when she wants another bedtime story,” he teased.

“This is much better than a bedtime story,” Charity said petulantly, tickling his side playfully and raising herself up onto her knees and moving to straddle him. “Tell me!”

“O.K, O.K,” P.T laughed, holding both hands palm up to ward off the oncoming tickle attack “I’ll tell you,”

He drew her back down so that she was practically lying on top of him, and recited last night’s conversation with Phillip in her ear softly, the words already committed to his memory.

“He forgives us,” Charity breathed as her husband caressed her back. “And you think that he definitely wants us in his life?”

“He certainly gave that impression,” the ringer master replied “He wanted space to get his head around everything, and that we’ll talk more today,”

The couple lay in silence for a while, exchanging kisses and soft strokes, both of them feeling happier than they had in what felt like ages.

“Tell me again,” Charity said.

However, the pattering of four little feet on the polished wood flooring outside the bedroom door prevented P.T from doing so, and a moment later, the door was thrown open and Caroline and Helen raced in.

“We’re hungry,” Helen declared, as Charity shifted over so that both girls had room to crawl up the bed and lie down in between them.

“You’re always hungry,” P.T replied, blowing a raspberry on his youngest daughter’s belly, making her squeal.

“What time is it anyway?” Charity asked, craning to look at the clock on her bedside table.

Caroline, who had just started learning to tell the time, answered proudly. “Eight o clock. We all had a lie in,”

“Indeed we have,” Charity replied, surprised at how late it was. Normally she was up at half six, whereas Phin, who hated being idle for too long, tended to get up even earlier.

“Have you two been awake for very long? You could have come and got us earlier,” Phineas said.

“No, we slept in too. But now we’re HUNGRY,” Helen said, exaggerating the last word.

“Alright, alright, what do you fancy?” Charity asked through a yawn.

“Pancakes!” the two girls said together.

“Daddy’s pancakes. With chocolate,” Helen added.

“You can have them with strawberries,” Charity said firmly, tapping her youngest child on the nose affectionately while Phineas climbed out of bed and headed into the wardrobe to get dressed.

Helen pouted, looking down at her lap briefly before looking at her mother again, eyes wide and sad.

“That look works on your father, it does not work on me,” Charity said, shaking her head firmly as she clambered out of bed and reached for her dressing gown.

“O.K well, I better go and feed our ravenous daughters before they die of starvation,” P.T said, emerging from the wardrobe, picking up a now pouting Helen and putting her over his shoulder, making her giggle, before giving Caroline the same treatment when she stood up.

“With strawberries,” Charity repeated as they made their way out of the room, getting three overly angelic grins in return.

15 minutes later, she was washed and dressed and made her way downstairs, where she found her two daughters eating pancakes, with chocolate dipped strawberries. _For God’s sake, Phin._

_** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * **_

It was with nervous excitement that the couple entered the circus tent an hour later, instead of the trepidation that they had experienced for the last couple of days. Had it really only been two days since they found out who their son was? It when to show how quickly everything in life can change.

“Where’s Flip?” Helen asked, unknowingly voicing her parents’ thoughts as she scanned the area for her favorite playmate.

“I’m sure that he’s around here somewhere. Maybe in the office?” P.T replied, pinching the bridge of his nose to try to ward off the approaching tension headache that he felt swirling behind his eyes since breakfast.

The two girls dashed off towards the caravan, in search of their quarry.

“You alright?” Charity asked her husband softly.

“Yeah, I am just getting a headache,” he replied, setting one hand in the small of his wife’s back as they followed along in their daughters’ wake.

She eyed him warily. “You don’t normally get headaches,”

“I know…”

“Phillip’s not in the office,” Caroline called.

Charity’s brow furrowed in consternation as she fixed her husband with a look.

“Maybe he’s not coming in today,”

“Let’s not worry too early. There could easily be an alternative explanation,” Phineas said calmly, sensing his wife’s increasing distress. His eyes landed on Anne Wheeler as she made her way into the circus ring, dressed in her costume and unique pink wig.

“Anne,” he called, head over. “Is Phillip about yet?”

“No, I think that he is coming in a bit later. There isn’t a show tonight, so I told him to get a couple of extra hours sleep,” the trapeze artist answered. She was looking at them with a strange expression, as if she was only just seeing them for who they truly were for the first time.

“You know, don’t you?” Charity said. “He told you?”

“Yes,” Anne replied with a soft smile “He tells me everything,”

“That’s good,” Phineas said.

“He’ll be here,” Anne replied confidently. “I know that he will be,”

With that, she politely excused herself and wandered over to where her brother was standing.

 

 

One hour dragged by at a snail’s pace, followed by a second, even more agonizingly long one. Phillip didn’t show up.

“He’ll just be resting at home. Trying to get his head around everything,” said Phineas, with a certainty that he didn’t feel.

Three hours.

Four hours.

By that point, Phineas’ headache had transformed into a raging migraine, and he shut himself into his office with a pitcher of water to try and get some paperwork done. After thirty minutes, he stopped. His racing thoughts, coupled with the way that Phillip’s empty desk seemed to be mocking him made it impossible and he settled for resting his thumping head on his folded arms, watching the seconds tick by on his time piece.

He was jerked out of his thoughts by Charity entering the office, wringing her hands and gnawing worriedly on her lower lip.

“What if he has no intention of coming?” she blurted out, pacing in front of his desk in an unusual display of outwards agitation. “What if he just said that to you as a cruel joke, to get back at us?”

“Phillip’s not like that,” Phineas said, setting aside the pen that he had been fiddling with.

“No, but he was so angry when we first told him…”

“Come here,” Phineas held his arms open to her.

The blonde woman halted her pacing and rounded the desk, perching on the arm of the chair as gracefully as she could. Chuckling despite himself, the ringmaster wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her fully into his lap, ignoring her muffled squeak of surprise.

“It hasn’t really been that long. We need to give him a bit more time than this before we panic. When he came to me last night, he seemed to be genuine about believing us, not being angry anymore. Besides, there is not a cruel bone in that boy’s body, he takes after you in that respect. If he didn’t believe us, he would just cut ties with the circus and leave, he wouldn’t be malicious,”

Charity nodded, but Phineas could tell that inside she was still in turmoil. Sighing, he pulled her closer to him, nuzzling her hair and rubbing her back. He didn’t know how long they sat like that for, each of them lost in thought, when a tentative knock at the door sounded, causing Charity to scramble hurriedly out of his lap.

“Come in,” Phineas called as he helped his wife fix her creased skirts.

The door to the office opened, revealing Anne Wheeler standing outside awkwardly.

“Miss Wheeler,” Phineas said by way of greeting, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Is this a bad time?” the woman asked softly.

“No, not at all,” Charity said warmly. “Come in,”.

“I was just thinking,” Anne said, stepping over the threshold “That if Phillip still isn’t here by the time the rehearsals are over, W.D and I should go over to his apartment, just to make sure that everything is alright?”

“Good idea,” Phineas replied, standing up, studying the girl’s worried expression. “Or, if it would make you feel better, go now. You and your brother could perform that routine in your sleep. Skipping one rehearsal isn’t going to bring the circus to its knees,”

Anne smiled gratefully.

“Thanks. I’ll go and let W.D know,”

**** ******** ******************** ******************************** *********  


Upon arriving at Phillip’s apartment, the feeling of unease in Anne’s gut seemed to grow more and more with every step she took towards the front door, accompanying the unexplainable sense that something wasn’t right. Steeling herself, she raised her hand and used the brass, lion head’s knocker to rap on the door before standing back and waiting. Several long seconds went by, with Anne listening keenly for any sound of movement within the interior of the apartment. When the door didn’t open, she gripped the door knocker again, this time with her hand trembling slightly, and knocked for a second time.

“It doesn’t seem like he is in,” W.D said after a pause, shifting from foot to foot.

“No,” Anne agreed, rummaging in her purse for the spare key that her boyfriend had given her ages ago. “He won’t mind,” she said to her brother as she slotted it into the lock.

The mechanism gave a familiar click as she turned the key and she pushed the door open slowly, heart pounding in her chest.

“Flip?” she called. “Are you here?”

No answer.

She padded into the apartment, holding the door open for her brother before closing it behind them softly. The apartment looked the same as it always did. The hallway led into a spacious living area, with lush carpets and plain walls, decorated with a few oil paintings.(Phillip detested wall paper). The furniture was also plain, albeit stylish. A dark wood coffee table was flanked on two sides by two red sofas, whose only adornments were a few velvet cushions. In fact, the only ostentatious object in the room was the old grandfather clock that stood proudly in one corner. Well, that and the red velvet window seat, although that was looking rather worn now, a testament to how much time the young man spent reading there, making the most of the ample light that the large window allowed in. The kitchen was it’s usual, tidy self, not a mug or plate out of place. Although, Phillip didn’t really use it much, tending to eat breakfast, lunch and tea at the circus. Anne poked her head into the tiny bathroom, which just consisted of a porcelain wash stand and tin bath. Finally, she entered the bedroom. The neat writing desk and bookcase looked exactly the same, but the bed gave her pause for thought. The bed was made, and looked like it hadn’t even been slept in. For a neat person, Phillip almost never made the bed. Brow furrowed in consternation, she wandered back to the living room, not bothering to check the guest bedroom at all.

“Well?” her brother asked.

Anne glanced around the room. Her boyfriend really was quite tidy, for any man, but especially a man who, until recently, had servants at his disposal to keep the place in order. The apartment was spotless, apart from the open book on the window seat, the coffee stain on the table, the pile of opened mail on the kitchen counter. All of those little things showed that the place was lived in, made it look like the occupant could walk in at any time. Something told Anne that the occupant wouldn’t however. The thought brought tears to the trapeze artist’s eyes briefly before she blinked them rapidly away.

“Anne?” her brother asked worriedly.

“I don’t think he came back last night,” she whispered.

“What? Why?”

“His bed is made. He never makes the bed and he wasn’t at the circus today. He would have at least sent word if he wasn't going to make it in”

“Maybe something came up An emergency or something,”

Anne gave her brother an incredulous look. “We are talking about someone who sends word to the circus if he is going to be thirty minutes late. He would have sent a message by now if there had been an emergency,”

“So, you think he is missing?”

Anne’s lip wobbled, and it took her a while to pluck up the courage to answer. “I don’t know. I hope not, but it is looking more and more likely,”

** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Did you speak to him?” Phineas asked as soon as Anne and W.D entered the circus tent, his hopeful expression disappearing, to be replaced by one of concern as soon as he saw their obvious agitation.

“He doesn’t want to see us, does he?” Charity asked, looking crestfallen.

“No - I mean yes, I’m sure he does, it’s just that… he wasn’t there. His apartment was empty and his bed didn’t look like it had been slept in.” The youngest Wheeler’s voice wobbled a bit. “I don’t think that he made it home last night,”

W.D reached for her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t get upset. It's still too early to jump to wild conclusions. There could be a simple explanation as to where he is,” the words were said optimistically, but the concerned expression on the man's face showed that even he wasn't very convinced by them.

Anne rounded on her brother, shrugging his arm off.

“He would have told me. He always tells me when he is not going to be here, because he knows that I worry. Something has happened to him, I know it!”

With that, the trapeze artist turned on her heel and stormed off. Where she was going, Phineas didn’t have a clue, and he doubted that she knew the answer to that herself. W.D hesitated for a moment before hurrying to catch up with her, a task that Phineas didn’t envy him of, as she was doing that thing that only women can do, where they walk at a pace that is faster than a man can run.

“Phin,” Charity practically sobbed, reaching for his hand “She’s right. He wouldn’t just not turn up, not without telling her. What do we do?”

Phineas glanced around the circus ring, aware of several of the performers watching them curiously.

“Let’s go to the office,” he murmured, steering his upset wife towards the caravan while he tried to bring his own panic under control.

Once inside, the first thing that Phineas’ eyes landed on was his son’s desk, much neater and tidier than his own, and the ringmaster’s jacket that he wore on P.T’s night off draped over the back of the chair.

_‘Where are you, buddy?’_

** * * ************ * * * **************** ** * **** *** ***********************

The awful, agonizing headache was the first thing that Phillip was aware of when he woke up, the throbbing pain in his skull pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Groaning, he tried to crack his eyes open, which proved to be a mistake as the first rays of sunlight seeped under his half open lids, intensifying the pain to the point where he felt nauseous. Shutting his eyes again rapidly, he swallowed convulsively until the feeling past, taking deep breaths through his nose to try to steady himself. After that, he lay there for long while, not daring to move so much as an inch out of fear of making his headache worse, or triggering a bout of vomiting. It wasn’t until it started to abate that he could even begin to try to figure out what had happened the night before. He didn’t remember drinking at all, in fact, the last time that he had felt this rough was before he joined the circus, after yet another horrendous party at his parent’s residence. Phillip couldn’t think of a reason why he would start drinking so heavily again. He was happy, he had Anne, and the circus, a family. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t go back to this place. What had he been doing yesterday? It took a while, in his semi-conscious state to recall the events of the day before, as he kept on losing his train of thought, the memories in his mind dissolving like wisps of smoke the moment he grabbed hold of them. Eventually though, he recalled the visit to Julia, finding out the truth, P.T and Charity were his real parents. The thought caused a sense thrill to shoot through him and he shifted slightly on his suddenly lumpy and uncomfortable bed, causing something to jangle. What could be jangling? He didn’t have time to ponder that, however, as his memories continued to return. Him and Anne returning to the circus, the talk with P.T, leaving the circus…leaving the circus.

_(Flashback)_

_“Phillip,”_

_The voice, as harsh and cold as ever, sent shivers down his spine. Revulsed, he turned around to face the person that he had called father for the nearly a quarter of a century._

_“What are you doing here?”_

_“You left suddenly last night. Your mother was worried,”_

_“Only she isn’t, is she?” Phillip sneered._

_“Don’t use that tone with me, boy. Your mother isn’t what? Worried?”_

_“No.” Phillip said, pacing slowly back over to his father until they were stood a mere foot apart, anger strumming in his veins. He had clenched his hands into fists at some point during the exchange, and he set about fussing with the already fastened buttons on his coat, lest he actually hit the man standing in front of him._

_“She isn’t my real mother,” the words came out as a hiss. “You adopted me, or kidnapped me, I should say, from Charity Barnum when she was sixteen,”_

_“Phillip,” Emerson sighed, bringing one hand up to rub his brow “I brought you up to be smarter than this. I will not stand by while a son of mine falls for the lies of trash like that,”_

_“Good job that I am not your son then. I believe them. They wanted to keep me, they love me,”_

_“Oh dear, I can see that so long amongst that lot really has got to your head. I should have put my foot down as soon as you started associating with Barnum. Oh well, I can’t do anything about that now. I can, however, ensure that you get fixed up,”._

_“I’m not broken,” Phillip practically shouted. “You are. You are completely cracked. You are not my father. I want nothing to do with you. Or Prudence. Ever again,”_

_His father was studying him with a severe, almost sad expression. “I really was hoping to avoid all of this nastiness, Phillip,” he sighed._

_With that, he turned his gaze to something over Phillip’s right shoulder, jerking his head at his son in a silent command. Before Phillip had chance to react, he felt something heavy collide hard with the back of his head, before his vision faded into darkness._

Phillip sat bolt upright, his heart racing as the memory played out in his head. Within a split second, everything had come back to him. He was now also more aware of his surroundings, and he was definitely not at home in his own, comfortable apartment or in the cot bed at the circus. He was sat on an old, lumpy mattress in the corner of a rather spacious room, a bedroom at one point, no doubt, but it had been stripped bare of all of its furnishings, leaving behind just the chandelier and the familiar garish wallpaper. The sudden movement had caused the throbbing in his head to return with a vengeance, and he raised one hand to feel the offending area, wincing as his fingers grazed the raised bump under his hair. Glancing down at himself, he took a few minutes to check the rest of his body for any further injuries. Someone had relieved him of his jacket and boots while he was unconscious, leaving them at the foot of the mattress. Thankfully, apart from the minor injury to his head, he appeared to be completely unscathed. Physically at least. A large metal ring, like a giant manacle, was clamped around his waist, secured with a heavy padlock while a length of chain was coiled by the side of the mattress, reminding Phillip of a snake about to strike. One end of the chain was welded to the ring around his waist, the other end was attached to a large metal staple which was cemented firmly into the wall. Phillip gave it an experimental tug as panic began to kick in, and as expected, it didn’t budge an inch.

The room swayed dizzyingly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, and he leant against the wall to steady himself before crossing the room towards the door on wobbly legs. He was only about a metre or so away when the chain held him back, and refused to give not matter how hard he pulled. There would be no getting out of the ring either, not without a key or a lock pick. It fit too snugly to get it down over his hips or up over his ribs. Not that it really mattered anyway, as the door was no doubt locked.

Shit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! Rate and review below, please and thank you.


	10. Kidnapped?

Charity shuddered as she stepped through the entrance doors into the police station. She had never been inside one, she had never needed to be inside one, and the fact that she was here for reasons pertaining to one of her children made it even worse. The reception area was bleak and grey, with a suspicious, rusty coloured stain on the far wall. Charity didn’t even want to begin thinking about what could have led to it being there. A funny smell clung to herself, one that she didn’t care to try to analyze beyond the fact that it made her want to reach for her smelling salts.

“Hey gorgeous,”

Charity tried and failed at hiding a grimace as the scruffy looking drunk handcuffed to a desk in the corner of the room leered at her. He drew breath, no doubt to carry on taunting her, but thankfully a glare from Phineas soon shut him up.

“Can I help you?” the young police officer behind the main desk asked kindly.

“Yes. We are here to report our son as missing,” P.T said, gripping Charity’s fingers where they rested in the crook of his arm and stroking his thumb over them, the familiar motion soothing for both of them.

The police officer set his pen down, his friendly face turning serious and concerned instantaneously.

“Right. A child?”

“No, he’s twenty four,”

“And what’s his name?”

“Phillip Carlyle,”

The police officer reached for a piece of clean paper, plucking his pen up off the desk again and dripping it into a polished brass inkwell.

“And what makes you believe that he is…”

The young man was cut off by the superintendent coming in through a door on the other side of the desk.

“Benjamin. I’ll handle this one. Will you be so kind as to escort Mr Wyatt to a cell?” the superintendent asked, gesturing at the drunk in the corner.

Sighing loudly, the officer pushed his chair back and stood up, reluctantly rounding the desk and going to deal with the drunk, getting a torrent of abuse from the man in question when he approached.

The superintendent turned to Phineas and Charity with a sympathetic smile. He was a middle aged man, tall with greying hair and a slight paunch protruding over his waist band.

“Apologies. The office door was open and I couldn’t help overhearing. Superintendent Hodgson,” he introduced himself, shaking hands with Phineas first, and then Charity “So, your son has gone missing?”

“Yes,” Phineas replied, guiding Charity to stand on the other side of him, so that he was between her and the angry drunk that was down being half led, half dragged past them towards the cell block.

“If you would care to follow me, we can talk about this somewhere more comfortable and more private,”

The superintendent led them past the reception to his small office, indicating that they should have a seat in two of the large cushioned chairs on one side of the desk while he went around to sit on the other side.

Charity perched on the edge of one of the seats, folding her hands in her lap, interlocking her fingers so that she wouldn’t wring them. She didn’t feel much more comfortable than she did out in the reception area. The chair that she was sat on had seen better days, the upholstery was starting to fray and it sagged in the middle, and the somber office had the appearance of prison cell itself. The white washed walls were stained and the floor was dirty. A small window set high in the wall let in a little light, but it wasn’t enough to alleviate the sinister atmosphere that hung over the entire room.

“Now, what makes you believe that your son is missing?” Hodgson asked, sweeping the papers spread out over his desk into an untidy pile and setting them to one side, before sitting up straighter in his chair and giving them his undivided attention.

“He left work last night and didn’t come in this morning like he planned too. His girlfriend visited his apartment a few hours ago and she claims that it didn’t look like he had returned to his home at all last night,”

“Where does he work?”

“At our circus, Barnum’s circus,”

“Ah, so you are the famous Phineas Barnum. My niece loves your shows,” the superintendent exclaimed before looking a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m going off topic. Was there any trouble before your son disappeared? An argument or a fight?”

Phineas hesitated, glancing over at Charity, who appeared to be just as indecisive as he was. Did they admit the truth, and risk the policeman in front of them assuming that Phillip simply didn’t want anything to do with them? The superintendent picked up on their hesitation and sighed deeply, leaning forwards slightly and folding his arms on his desk.

“Anything that you can tell me will be helpful in finding your son. Please believe me when I say I’ve heard it all. I can’t help but notice that he has a different surname to the two of you?”

Charity raised her eyebrow at Phineas in silent askance and he nodded slowly in response, both of them coming to the same decision.

“We only just found out that he is our son,” Charity said quietly.

“Oh?”

“It’s a long story, but our son was given up for adoption by my parents twenty four years ago. We had been searching for him for years and years, but we only managed to track him down a few days ago, through a private investigator. It turned out that Phillip Carlyle, my husband’s business partner, was our long lost son, and had been working alongside us for several months without us knowing who he really was,”

The superintendent let out a low whistle.

“That is some story. It just goes to show that it really is a small world. I take it that you told him that you were his parents? Did he have any idea that he was adopted, or who you were?”

“Yes, we told him the same day that we found out. It was a massive shock for him, as he had no idea that he had been given up for adoption,” Charity replied.

“How did he take the news?”

“He was angry to start with. He didn’t want to talk to us, or even be in the same room, but then, yesterday morning, he and his girlfriend went to talk with someone, and when he came back, he seemed to be in a much better mood with us,”

The superintendent, who had started to write notes on a blank piece of paper, looked up sharply at that.

“Who did he go to speak to?”

“I don’t know. I think that it must have been someone who knew the Carlyles, who knew about where he really came from, because when he came back, his attitude towards us had made a complete turn around,”

“So, what do you mean, when you say that he was in a better mood with you when he returned?” the superintendent asked.

“He went to my husband late last night, and he said…” Charity trailed off, glancing at Phineas.

“He said that he believed us and he wasn’t angry anymore, and that we would speak more today, only he never turned up,”

Hodgson sighed, setting down his pen.

“From all that I have heard, I believe that it is highly likely that your son isn’t missing. He has just taken himself off on his own accord. The information that your parents aren’t actually your parents and that you were put up for adoption must have been a lot to take in. He has probably just gone away for a few days to take some time to process it,”

“But he told us he would be at the circus today!” Charity cried “He would have sent word if he wasn’t going to turn up, he is too considerate to have not have done,”

Hodgson eyed her sympathetically. “Maybe he is still feeling some residual anger towards the two of you. Maybe he has changed his mind about how he feels about the whole thing and he isn’t ready to talk about it after all,”

“He would have let Anne know, at least!” Charity retorted, growing distressed. Phineas laid a calming hand on her arm.

“Who is Anne?”

“Anne Wheeler. Our son’s girlfriend and a trapeze artist at the circus,” Phineas replied. “My wife is right. No matter how Phillip felt towards us, he wouldn’t have let Anne worry unnecessarily,”

Hodgson was nodding along, but his gaze was sympathetic, almost patronizing.

 _‘He has heard all of this before’_ Phineas thought to himself, as any hope he had of the police helping them to find Phillip faded away rapidly to nothing.

The superintendent spread his hands helplessly.

“In most cases like this, when not much time has passed, the person in question turns up safe and sound. I’m afraid that there is nothing that the police can do for you right now,” he said apologetically.

“But…” Charity argued.

“Charity,” Phineas said softly, nudging her foot lightly with his own. It was pointless wasting her breath. They were not going to change this man’s mind.

“In a couple of days, if nobody has heard from him, come back,” Hodgson said, rising to his feet. “We will treat him as a missing person then. Can I show you out?”

“We’ll show ourselves out,” Phineas snapped ungraciously as he and his wife also stood up.

“As you wish,” Hodgson replied as they took their leave. “I really hope you find him, and get things patched up,” he called after their retreating figures.

******************************************************************* *******

Anne really hated hospitals. She hated the smell, the noise, the sense of fear that seemed to pervade the place. It didn’t help that she had seen her fair share of them when she was little, while she was developing her trapeze artist skills. Or that she had a fear of needles. Phillip being rushed there and spending two days hovering between life and death had hammered the final nail in the coffin. It was W.D’s idea, once he had finally caught up with her, that they check the hospital before jumping to wild conclusions about Phillip being kidnapped. Anne had to admit that he had a point. So here they were, entering the city’s busy hospital.

Her brother looked at her, knowing how much she despised these places.

“You o.k.?” he asked.

She nodded, swallowing down hard on her unease and stepping through the doors of the main entrance.

“Mind out of the way!” an impatient nurse snapped as she barreled past the duo, holding one end of a stretcher. A male orderly was holding the other end, and the two of them weren’t carrying it very smoothly, the middle aged man that they were transporting groaned as they bumped and jostled him. Anne quickly averted her eyes, but not before she caught a glimpse of feverish eyes rolling in a ghostly white face, and a shard of bone sticking out of what was clearly a badly broken arm.

W.D. drew her closer to him, his calmness acting like a balm on her already frayed nerves and giving her much needed strength.

“Come on, let’s find someone to ask,”

That task proved to be harder said than done. Apparently there had been a bad carriage collision and some sort of freak accident at a building yard, and all of the medical staff were rushed off their feet. The two siblings stood awkwardly to one side as the chaos carried on around them, the only time anyone spoke to them was to snap at them for getting in the way. Eventually, Anne caught hold of a young nurse as she hurried past. She felt guilty for potentially taking attention away from a seriously injured person, but for all she knew, Phillip could be seriously injured, and in need of her.

“Phillip Carlyle. Is he here?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.” The nurse snapped unhelpfully, squirming under the tight grip on her arm. “Can you let go?”

Anne growled in frustration, but released the woman’s arm from her grasp, feeling slightly guilty as the other girl raised her hand to rub at the tender area. She could be heavy handed when she panicked. Her mounting distress must have shown on her face, because the nurse took pity on her, pointing them to a small reception desk in the corner of the room.

The receptionist was a stark contrast to the other hospital staff. The doctors, nurses and orderlies were running around like headless chickens, tripping over themselves and each other to help the injured that were still streaming through the doors of the hospital, the conditions varying from walking wounded to seriously injured. Whereas the receptionist was bumbling along at her own pace, each movement slow and deliberate. She reminded Anne of someone working in a quiet bank or office somewhere, and not an extremely busy hospital ward. The receptionist, a middle aged woman with greying hair and a large pair of glasses perched on her nose, didn’t look up as they approached, or when W.D subtly cleared his throat.

“Excuse me…”Anne tried.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” the woman said, looking over a page of notes, her tone short.

“I need to find someone,” Anne carried on. She really didn’t have time to wait, she needed to know where Phillip was.

The receptionist didn’t look at her, just held her hand up in a quiet order for silence. She set the page of notes down and reached for another one, glancing at it before tossing it carelessly aside and reaching for another one. Anne was sure, that now the woman was just making a point of making them wait. It was enough to make the young circus performer’s blood boil. When the old witch reached for another paper, Anne was ready for her, slamming her hand down on the document and holding it in place, causing the older woman to finally make eye contact with her.

“Phillip Carlyle,” the trapeze artist’s voice was steely. “Is he here?”

The woman looked astounded, like she wasn’t used to people standing up to her. Maybe she wasn’t. It would certainly explain why she felt at liberty to work at a snail’s pace whereas everyone else was dashing about like the world was coming to an end.

“Well?” W.D prompted, folding his arms.

“Let me just check,” the woman sighed after a long moment, clearly having decided that the best course of action would be to just get these two people out of her hair.

She opened a large ledger that was on the desk and started flipping through it, finally reaching the page that she wanted, muttering under her breath as her eyes skimmed a list of names. After a couple of minutes, she slammed the book shut with a moody huff of breath.

“No Phillip Carlyle here,” she said. “Wait, we do have a couple of John Does in the…, can you give me a description?”

Anne didn’t answer, just fiddled with a loose thread on her shawl. In the end, her brother had to rattle off a quick description.

“5 foot 8, dark hair, early twenties,”

“No, we don’t have anyone like that here. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do,”

The pair left the hospital in silence, weaving their way past frantic nurses and stressed doctors until they reached the serene quietness of outside.

“Annie?” W.D asked worriedly, touching his younger sister’s arm lightly.

“She thought that he might be dead,” the female trapeze artist’s voice was distant.

“Who did?” W.D started to feel queasy. The idea that the junior ringmaster might not still be alive had not even occurred to him before now.

“That receptionist. That is what she meant when she was talking about the two John Does. They were brought into the hospital morgue. But I already knew that Phillip isn’t dead. I’d have felt it if he was,”

************************************************************* ************ The circus was quiet by the time P.T and Charity got back from the police station, most of the circus performers having finished rehearsing and returned to their caravans. The only people still milling about the main tent were a small group of stage hands, who were busy sweeping up at the far end of the circus ring and clearing away a few stray props. Carefully, the ringmaster guided his still seething wife around an upended stool which had been left right where any poor, unsuspecting sod would easily trip over it. He felt glad that there was no one in ear shot as Charity continued her rant, which had first started the moment she exited the superintendent’s office.

“Anything could be happening to him right now, and instead of doing something, they waste time just expecting him to turn up…”

“Charity…” P.T sighed wearily. He was just as frustrated as she was, but ranting and raving was not going to change anything.

He was prevented from saying anything further by the sound of a small, hopeful voice ringing out behind them.

“How did you get on at the police station?”

“Not great,” P.T replied gravely, turning around to face his son’s girlfriend as she entered the circus tent, her big brother two steps behind her. “They said that he hadn’t been missing long enough, and that they would investigate further if he has not reappeared in the next day or two,”

“But,” Anne said, taking a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “Anything could be happening to him, he could be in danger or…”

“We know all of this, Anne,” P.T replied, trying to keep his impatience out of his tone. “But the police aren’t going to listen to any of that. They have heard it all before. We are just going to have to try to get him back on our own,”

“We could try the hospital…” Charity began.

“We’ve just come from there,” W.D. replied softly. “They definitely don’t have him. They checked down every possible…avenue,”

“So, what now?” Anne asked.

“Gather the others, get them to meet us in the ring in fifteen minutes. We need all of the help that we can get,” P.T replied.

**************************** *********** ** ********************************  


“You had better have a good reason for keeping a girl from an early night, Barnum,” Lettie huffed, tying her dressing gown tighter around her waist and fixing the ringmaster with a look so steely that it would have sent a weaker man hurrying away with his tail between his legs.

The other performers shifted on the bleachers, muttering quietly amongst themselves as they picked up on the chilly tension in the tent.

Charity wrung her hands together in front of her, a symptom of agitation that the majority of the performers did not miss.

“Phin,” the blonde prompted her husband.

“It’s a bit of a long story, and it’s going to come as a bit of a shock…” Phineas began, pausing to clear his voice when it came out sounding a little bit off.

“I don’t think anything you say could shock me now,” Lettie said, in an attempt at humour that fell flat. “Come on. Out with it,”

“It was a shock to us as well, we only found out a few days ago…”

Seeing their usually unflappable boss act so nervous made the rest of the circus troop feel nervous as well, as a murmur went up from the group huddled on the bleachers.

“Barnum, please. Just tell us,” Lettie sighed, her growing agitation making her impatient.

“Charity and I, we have a child,” P.T said.

“We know you do,” Constantine said in confusion. “You have two.”

“Shhh!” Lettie hissed. “Let him finish,”

“Sorry,” Constantine replied sheepishly.

“It’s quite alright. We do have two, but we had another child before that. Before we were married, when we were just sixteen, we had a boy. A boy who was put up for adoption by Charity’s parents when he was three weeks old. I was away working at the time, and was therefore unable to stop the adoption from happening,”

Constantine swore audibly.

“You found him?” Lettie guessed.

“We found him months ago, we just didn’t realize it,” Charity replied sadly.

“You’ve lost me,” Charles said, shaking his head as he tried to keep up.

“A couple of days ago, the private investigator I hired years ago to track down our son contacted me to say that he had found him. When we got there, he informed us that our son was, in fact, Phillip Carlyle.”

P.T and Charity stood quietly as shocked silence fell over the rest of the circus, letting them absorb the information. Unsurprisingly, Lettie was the first one to react.

“So Phillip is your… You are his… Oh my God!”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Charles said quietly. “He looks like a Barnum, he has plenty of musical talent…”

Phillip waited until the initial chorus of surprise had died down before continuing.

“That is not actually the only thing we needed to discuss with you,”

“Oh gosh, what now? Actually no, you just said that Phillip is your son. You can’t just change the subject on us now. Does he know? Anne, did you know about this? Where is he?” Lettie said, glancing around as if Phillip was hiding somewhere in the tent, ready to jump out and surprise them all.

“I’m not changing the subject,” P.T said. “Yes, Phillip knows. Anne knows as well, and so does W.D. What I needed to tell you was that he is missing,”

What do you mean, missing?” Deng Yan asked.

“We told him that he was our son. He didn’t take it too well to start with, but he came around to the idea last night. We spoke briefly in the office, and he told me that he would be back today to discuss it more, only he never showed up…”

“And from the look of his apartment, he didn’t return home last night,” Anne interjected.

“Are you sure that he isn’t just mad about…?” Jeremy started.

“He isn’t mad with P.T and Charity anymore,” Anne snapped. “I was there when he found out the truth. He was happy, and besides, even if he was still angry with them, he wouldn’t have just ran off without so much as talking to me,”

“You’re right, Annie,” Lettie agreed hurriedly, eager to sooth the younger girl before she got herself even more worked up. “He wouldn’t have just upped and left without saying anything to you,”

“Have you checked the hospital? Maybe he met with an accident on the way home,” Walter suggested.

“They haven’t seen him,” Charity replied. “And he hasn’t been missing long enough for the police to get involved,”

“So, if he wouldn’t just leave without uttering a word, and the hospital don’t have him, what’s happened to him?” Jeremy asked, suspicions already beginning to rise within him even as he asked the question.

“He would have sent word if he couldn’t get to the circus, we know that he is not in hospital and that he hasn’t ran off out of anger,” Charity said. “The only other possibility that we can think of is that someone has taken him,”

“Taken him!” Lettie practically shrieked, fear for her surrogate younger brother filling her. “Who would want to do a thing like that?”

“We don’t know,” P.T admitted. “That’s why we have come to you. We need as many people working on this as possible,”

For a few minutes, everyone sat in silence, not knowing what to say and pondering the situation. Eventually, Walter spoke up.

“This area is _always_ busy. If Phillip really has been…kidnapped, someone must have seen something. Some unsavory character hanging around, or something. We could split up and ask around for information, we could do it now, it isn’t too late,”

“Good idea,” Phineas smiled.

“Well, let’s get on with it,” Deng Yan said, rising to her feet and brushing herself down, eager to start searching for her wayward friend.

“Go in groups,” Charity instructed firmly. “Whoever took Phillip may come after more members of the circus,”

 

“Chairy,” Phineas said, gently guiding Charity over to a small, secluded corner of the tent while the rest of the circus busied themselves with preparing for departure and deciding who was going where and with who. “You need to go home,”

“What? No!” his wife argued, eyes flashing angrily.

“You have done all that you can do for one day. We are not going to get much more done tonight in general. Maybe pick up a few clues at best, and you are exhausted,”

“So are you. I am his mother, I am not going anywhere,”

Phineas rested his hands gently on her shoulders, looking into her eyes.

“Yes, you are his mother and he couldn’t ask for a better one. But you have two other children who need you. The girls have been with the nanny for ages. They will be worried about where we are. Go home. Even if it’s just for a few hours. I will send word if we find anything out,”

Charity had to admit that he was right. The girls would be worried, and she did need to go home and take care of them.

“Fine,” she sighed, nodding her agreement “I’ll go and get one of the stage hands to send for a carriage,”

Grasping her elbows, he leant in slightly and pressed his lips to her forehead for a long moment before releasing her, staring after her as she hurried off across the ring.

“P.T.?” came Lettie’s hesitant voice.

The ringmaster jumped as he was jerked from his thoughts before turning to face the performer.

“Yes, what is it?”

“We’re ready. We all know where we are going. Are you coming with us or…?”

“No. I think that I am going to go to Phillip’s apartment. To see if I can find any clues to what might have happened,”

Lettie nodded.

“O.K., We are going to start heading out now,”

P.T glanced around, noticing that someone else had now gone AWOL.

“Where’s Anne?”

“She went back to the caravan to get her shawl. She looked a bit upset, so I think that her and her brother are going to follow on a bit later,” The songstress gave her boss a sympathetic look. “How are you holding up?”

P.T drew breath.

“And don’t bother with lying to me,” Lettie said in a mock stern voice, hands gravitating towards her hips.

P.T sighed, running his hands through his thick, dark hair.

“They say that losing one child is unlucky, losing two is just carelessness. I think that it is probably safe to apply the latter to losing the same child twice,”

“P.T, you aren’t to blame for this. You and Charity are brilliant parents to Caroline and Helen and you’ve acted like parents to Phillip even before you found out that he was yours. You did what every good parent would do. You gave your adult son the space that he wanted. The only person to blame for this situation is the person who has Phillip,”

P.T nodded, although he didn’t really believe her, not in the least.

Lettie stepped forwards and pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back lightly.

“It _wasn’t_ your fault,” she murmured insistently in his ear, keeping hold of him for a few minutes before Charles called for her.

She smiled apologetically before dashing off to join the others.

 

P.T waited until all of the performers trickled out, in groups of two or three, to go and look for information before he escorted Charity to a carriage. He had gotten her safely ensconced inside and was watching the vehicle disappear around the corner of the street when Jeremy came dashing over to him.

“Is everything alright?” P.T asked worriedly. _Please don’t tell me that someone else has done missing_ he thought to himself.

“I thought that you might need a key,” the elephant skinned man replied.

P.T stared at him blankly.

“To get into Phillip’s apartment,” Jeremy explained.

“Oh. Oh, of course,” P.T said, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he shook his head at his own idiocy. How could he have possibly have gotten into his son’s apartment without a key. The ringmaster was pretty sure that he had never felt this frazzled before in his entire life.

“I have one,” Jeremy said, digging into his pocket for it.

“You do?” P.T asked, surprised. He knew that both Anne and W.D had a key to his son’s home because they had lived with him for a few weeks after the fire, but he hadn’t know that Phillip had given other performers a key.

“Yeah, he gave me one when he found out that my parents were fighting a lot, so that I would have somewhere else to stay occasionally when it was getting too much,” Jeremy replied. “Ah,” he said triumphantly as he finally found the key and withdrew it from his waistcoat pocket.

“How many people has he given keys too?” P.T asked as the other man handed it to him.

Jeremy smiled.

“Quite a few of us. He wanted us to have a safe place to go to, if we ever needed one,”

Phineas smiled despite himself. That sounded like his kind hearted boy.

“Thanks,” he replied, shifting slightly. “I don’t know what I would have done if I got there and didn’t have a…” he trailed off as he felt something hard under the sole of his boot. Lifting his shoe, he caught sight of something glinting on the ground, and bending down to pick it up, felt his heart sink as he recognized it.

“Actually, I don’t think I need your key after all,”

He held the object up, a small key, with the familiar pewter horse keyring attached, the one that Caroline and Helen had given to Phillip not long after he first joined the circus.

 

*************************************** ***************** *****************

“It’s late. Maybe we should head back to the circus. See if anyone else has found anything,” Charles said, shivering. It had been drizzling steadily for almost an hour, just lightly but it was the type of rain that gradually soaked you until you were wet through. To make matters worse, a cold breeze was blowing in off the docks, and he stamped his feet to try and warm up again.

“Just one more place,” Lettie said, leading the way across the road to a parade of shops and cafes on the other side.

“Lettie, everywhere is shut,” Constantine argued.

“So, we do what? Just give up?” the songstress snapped back.

“I wasn’t saying that. We go back to the circus, regroup with the others, and try again tomorrow, when we are all more fresh,”

“You honestly think that I will be able to sleep knowing that Phillip is God knows where, in the clutches of God knows who?” Lettie asked incredulously, rounding on the tattooed man. “I can’t just quit for the night, I need to do something!”

With that she turned on her heel and marched off again, muttering under her breath, but not before her companions saw the tears glittering in her eyes. The two men glanced at each other before hurrying to catch up.

“There’s a coffee shop down here that stays open late. Maybe the owner will have seen something,” she called over her shoulder, both men picking up on the desperation in her voice. They were feeling it as well. They had been walking around for ages, most establishments in the local area were closed, and the people that they had managed to speak to hadn’t seen or heard anything. They were no closer to finding Phillip then they had been when they first left the circus.

Charles dashed forwards until he caught up with the fiery circus performer, slipping his hand into hers and giving it a comforting squeeze.

“We’re just as worried as you are, you know,” he whispered.

She returned his squeeze with one of her own, a sad smile forming on her face.

“I know. I’m sorry,”

The coffee shop was twenty meters or so further down the street, and the trio reached it quickly, the bell above the door ringing cheerfully as they entered. The warmth and bright candlelight was a welcome change after being outside on that particularly chilly, wet, summer night, and Charles couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief.

The coffee shop was empty accept for a couple of exhausted looking dock workers sat half asleep at one of the tables in the corner, steaming coffee cups in front of them, and a young man wearing a smart, well tailored suit sitting near the door looking over a page of hastily scribbled notes.

The sound of the bell ringing brought the shop’s owner bustling through from the kitchen, wiping podgy hands on his white apron.

“Evening,” he asked, doing a double take as he took in the trio of new customers’ appearances before giving them a friendly smile. “What can I get you?”

“We’re not here for coffee,” Charles announced.

“Oh,” the man looked understandably perplexed at that statement.

“We’re actually on the hunt for some information…” Lettie continued.

“Although I will take a double espresso,” Constantine butted in, earning himself a glare from the other two.

“What? It’s thirsty, tiring work, all of this looking for missing people. I need to be full of energy for when we do find out where Phillip is,”

“Has someone gone missing?” the shop owner asked, looking between the three of them as he tried to follow the conversation.

“Our boss. Well, one of our bosses. He went missing last night. We work at Barnum’s circus, have you heard of it?”

The man smiled. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. I know that it is hard to spot in the dark, but during the day time, you can see the big top and part of the entrance from the front window. I take my kids sometimes,” his expression turned serious “I am sorry to hear that your boss has gone missing. Have you been to the police?”

“Yeah, but they were worse than useless” Lettie said, a bitter note entering her voice. “We were wondering if you saw anything suspicious yesterday, during the evening. Or throughout the day for that matter,”

The shop keeper rubbed his chin thoughtfully, mulling the matter over. “Not that I can remember,” he admitted regretfully after a moment or two.

Lettie felt herself begin to deflate a little.

“Although…wait, yes, there was something,” the man exclaimed “It would have been about five o clock in the evening. A carriage pulled up outside of my shop, one of the big, fancy ones, and a man got out of it. He spent ages standing outside on the pavement, staring, no, glaring I suppose, at the circus. I wondered what he was doing. I was about to go out and find out if he needed assistance with anything when these three other men came along. Working class men I would say, quite rough and thuggish looking. I highly suspect that they were all up to no good,”

“What did this man look like? The one who arrived in a carriage” Lettie asked, her heart beginning to beat faster in her chest.

“Hmm, middle aged, well dressed, quite a severe expression on his face. He had this air about him that seemed to suggest that he thought that he was better than everyone else. I’m sure that you know the type. No offence, I think that your circus is great, but he didn’t look like the sort of man who would frequent your establishment,”

Lettie looked over at her two companions as realization dawned, horror filling her gut. However, it was Charles who voiced everyone’s thoughts.

“Emerson Carlyle,”

****************** * ************** ********************* **** ********* **

The rain that had started out as light drizzle had turned into a torrential downpour by the time that Phineas arrived outside of Phillip’s apartment, pounding on the pavements and starting to flood the roads. The first thing that the ringmaster did when he stepped out of the carriage onto the pavement was put his foot into an ankle deep puddle, cursing as he felt the freezing rain water soak first his boot, and then his foot. If someone ever managed to create a type of footwear that was completely waterproof, they would make a fortune from it. Muttering under his breath and glaring at a couple of amused onlookers, Phineas strode the few minutes to the front door of his son’s apartment and slid a hand into his pocket, feeling around for the small metal key to the front door. It wasn’t there. Shit. What had he done with it? Was it in the other pocket? No, it wasn’t. Was it…It was still in his other hand. Where it had been for the entire ride over from the circus. He had been clutching it tightly, so tightly that it had left an imprint on his palm.

 _‘Get it together, Barnum,_ ’ Phineas thought to himself, raking a hand through his hair _‘You’ve got no chance of finding any clues in this frazzled state’_

It wasn’t until he was about to slide the key into the lock that he realized that the implement was completely unnecessary. The door was already slightly open.

“Phillip?!” Phineas called, pushing the door open the rest of the way and entering the flat, his heart lurching. “Are you here?”

The living room and kitchen were empty, cast in darkness and Phineas felt his hope rapidly fade. Surely if Phillip were back, he would have lit a couple of candles at least. Well, he may as well have a look around, Phineas figured, as he had originally planned to, to see if he could find any hints as to where his son might be. However, before he so much as had the chance to move, he heard something, something almost like a faint rustle.

“Phillip? Flip?”

A soft sniffle was the ringmaster’s only answer, coming from the bedroom. As Phineas drew nearer, he could see a soft, flickering light through the crack under the door, like that of a single candle.

“Phillip?” he asked tentatively, pushing the bedroom door open.

“Not Phillip,” a small voice croaked.

“Anne?” Phineas exclaimed as he caught sight of the trapeze artist.

She was sat under the window with her back against the wall, her knees pulled up tight to her chest. The single candle on the bedside table cast light over the girl’s face, illuminating the tear tracks on her face. He crossed the room quickly, feet almost silent on the plush carpet and sank down beside her. She didn’t react or acknowledge him in any way, staring ahead with a glassy eyed gaze. She was trembling slightly, he realized, dressed only in a thin dress and a woollen shawl that had seen better days. He reached out and gently touched her arm, slowly so as not to startle her, and as he expected, her skin was stone cold.

“You’re freezing,” he said worriedly, shedding off his own jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. It still had water droplets clinging to the tweed fabric, but the silk interior lining was still dry, and warm from his own body heat. “Here, put this on,”.

She opened her mouth, maybe to thank him, but all that came out was a sob.

“Aww, Come here,” the ringmaster said softly, holding one arm out to her.

She leant into his side without a moment’s hesitation, resting her head on his shoulder, fresh tears leaking out of her eyes.

“I know, I know,” Phineas murmured, stroking her hair in the same way he would for Caroline or Helen when they were upset. Tears pricked at the back of his own eyes and he rapidly blinked them away, turning his focus to comforting the distressed girl currently huddled beside him. “I’m worried about him as well,”

“He hasn’t come home yet, and he’s not in the hospital,” she said quietly, after several minutes of silence had passed between the two. “That means that someone has taken him, but I can’t think of anyone who would want to do that to him,”

Phineas agreed. He didn’t know of anyone who would want to harm his kind, sweet boy either. Apart from the protesters, but kidnapping wasn’t their style anyway. Phillip was talented, could sing and dance as well as any other performer in the circus and had a great way with words, but his really special talent was getting people to love him, without even trying. To him, it was effortless. Anyone who truly knew him couldn’t help but fall in love with him. So who would want to hurt him? Maybe they didn’t take him away to hurt him, Phineas pondered, as an idea started to form. Maybe it was someone who just didn’t like him being in the circus, somebody who wanted to bring him back to the ‘upper class lifestyle’

“Maybe someone who did care for him, but didn’t care for his lifestyle,” he said, voicing his thoughts out loud.

“Someone who was desperate for a baby,” Anne replied, picking up on where he was going.

“And would do anything to try to keep him from finding out the truth,”

The pair looked at each other in dawning realization.

“The Carlyles,”

** * *** ****** ********* * * ***************** ** *** **** **** ******* *****

If Phillip hadn’t already been aware of how much trouble he was in, the thorough investigation of his room would have definitely hammered it home. The chain prevented him from getting within reach of the door and even if he could, it would be locked. Like most doors, it would no doubt open inwards, so shouldering it wouldn’t do much good, and he didn’t have anything resembling a lock pick. He had examined the chain for any faults or weak points, where he might be able to break it, but it was bright and shiny and no doubt brand new, the metal of the links the same width as his forefinger. He had turned his attention to the large staple sticking out of the wall, to which the other end of the chain was secured to, but it hadn’t budged an inch when he tried to wriggle it free. The slightly open window was also just out of his reach, and it seemed to have a metal bar running diagonally across it, with more metal bars crisscrossing each other a short distance behind it, reminding Phillip of scaffolding. Scaffolding, of course. He was in the East wing of the Carlyle house, where the construction work was going on. Realizing that he was not going to be able to free himself - not without a key or a tool of some kind, all there was left for him to do was pace, and he couldn’t even do that for very long before the thick iron band around his waist grew too heavy. Sighing, he perched on the edge of the mattress, knowing that the only thing that he could do at that present moment in time was wait for his captors to arrive.

He didn’t have to wait long. The click of well-polished shoes on the marble stairs made his ears prick up and he scrambled to his feet just as the key turned in the lock and the door creaked open. The first thing that he noticed, as his heart sank, was that the door hadn’t just been locked, it had been bolted by a metal bar almost as wide as his hand.

“Let me go,” he barked before Emerson Carlyle even had the chance to step into the room.

“Ah, good. You’re awake,” the older man said calmly, choosing to ignore his ‘son’s’ demand.

“Let me go,” Phillip snarled, getting as close to his father as he could get. The business man had the good sense to keep out of his prisoner’s reach.

“You know that I cannot do that, Phillip. Not while you are under the delusional influence of maniacs,”

“There is only one maniac here,” Phillip said through gritted teeth. “And I’m looking at him,”

“You are just proving my point, boy,” Emerson said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You are clearly not in your right mind, completely incapacitated. It pains your mother and I to do this…”

“I truly doubt that,” Phillip spat, getting a steely look in return.

“But it is for your own good. As soon as you are well again, we will let you go. Your mother was worried that you might be hungry,”

He turned back towards the door and clapped his hands once. Geoffrey shuffled in, clutching a silver water pitcher in one hand, and a matching silver tea tray with a plate of sandwiches balanced on the other. He set them down by the mattress without making eye contact once with Phillip before turning back to the door.

“Is this really the kind of person that you want to serve?” Phillip asked, glaring at the old man’s retreating back. The butler paused for a second before continuing out of the room and back down the steps.

“Don’t be so dramatic, boy,” Emerson sniffed. “Now that you are away from the freak show, you will soon recover and it will all just seem like a bad memory. And you will understand why we had to do this,”

Fiery anger filled Phillip to bursting, and while he knew it wasn’t really a smart thing to do in his circumstances, he grabbed the silver tea tray and lobbed it as hard as he could at the other man’s head. Emerson, with surprising agility for a man of his age, side stepped it and it skimmed through the air and crashed against the far wall.

“Well,” the man sighed, eying the debris on the floor “That was foolish. That was the only dinner that you will be getting today,”

“I’m not hungry,” Phillip growled. “How can anyone have an appetite when they are being kept like this?”

“You clearly aren’t in the right mood for a civilized conversation. I will come back later after you have calmed down,” Emerson turned and started heading back towards the open door.

“You can’t leave me like this,” Phillip called, hurrying after him “It’s inhumane, it’s…”

He forgot about the chain until it pulled him back, agony lancing through him as the cruel metal band dug into his stomach. He teetered for a few moments before managing to regain his balance and spared himself the embarrassment of going sprawling in front of the other man, before doubling over, clutching his wounded stomach.

“Oh Phillip,” the older man crooned in mock sympathy. “You always were such a klutz. Your mother will be pleased to know that dancing about with a load of circus freaks hasn’t ironed out your ‘cute, clumsy side’.

“Given that my mother is one of those circus freaks, she definitely won’t mind, no. She will, however, care about the fact that I am being kept chained up like an unwanted farm dog,” Phillip gasped, still bent over.

“Oh, don’t act so hard done by,” Emerson said, stepping into the hallway. “You may think that this is unpleasant, but you are far better off than all those poor souls in the asylum. Which, let’s be honest, is where a lot of parents would put their son if he was suffering from a mental affliction such as yours,” He reached for the door. “Goodnight,” he called cheerfully.

With that, he slammed the door shut, locked it again and drew the bolt across, leaving Phillip alone once more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Sorry for the delay, moving house is awful, is all that I can say. Plus this chapter was a bitch to write. I was going to do it in two parts and then decided that it would be better as one longer chapter instead.  
> I know that there is a lot of speech and not much action in this chapter. This will change quite shortly.
> 
> I decided not to have chapters and chapters of the rest of the circus family wondering where Phillip is, because I think in real life, it wouldn't take them long to figure it out. 
> 
> Phillip seems like the type of person to give all the performers a key to his flat, to use if they need somewhere safe to stay. I did do some research into whether or not Victorians used key rings, but all of the internet sites were quite vague on the matter. I did find one that claimed that key rings did become popular around the time that The Greatest showman took place. I wanted the key to be easily identifiable as Phillip's, so that P.T would know for certain that his son never returned home on that particular night. 
> 
> I will have the next chapter up as soon as possible. Please let me know what you think so far. Thanks.


	11. Chapter 11

After his father left, Phillip drank all of the water in the water jug, paced his room a few more times before finally trying to settle on the mattress. He may as well get some rest, he needed to stay strong and full of energy if he was going to escape. However, sleep alluded him. The metal ring made it impossible to get comfortable, and he was incapable of switching off all the frenzied thoughts going around in his head. He mind wandered back to the circus. Had anyone realised that he was missing yet? Anne would have. He always sent word to her if he had been delayed. Would Phineas and Charity be worried? Probably, but would they think that he had found himself in danger, or would they think that he had decided to believe the Carlyles and turned his back on the circus after all? If that was the case, what were the chances of aid coming from the outside world? 

After half an hour or so of tossing and turning, Phillip accepted the fact that sleep just wasn't going to happen and distracted himself by counting the flowers on the wallpaper. It was not the most energetic or stimulating of pastimes, but hopefully it would have the same effect as counting sheep.

He had just reached 120 flowers when the door creaked open again, more slowly and gently than the last time. It surely couldn't be Emerson already? Sitting bolt upright, Phillip braced himself for yet another altercation. Only it wasn't Emerson standing in the threshold, it was his wife, Prudence Carlyle.

"I came to see if you needed anything," Prudence said, her hands clasped sedately in front of her, her eyes fixating on anything accept her so called son.

"You can't tell me that you actually agree with this?" Phillip said, standing and beginning to cross the short distance to the person he had once called mother. The chain rattled as he did so, the woman wincing violently at the sound.

"You gave us no choice, Phillip," she said to the window pane. "All of those things that you said to your father. They were the ramblings of a maniac,"

Phillip drew breath, ready to do battle before logic caught up with him. He had shouted and spat insults at Emerson, to no avail. Maybe a change of tactic was in order. Maybe the softly softly approach would have a better effect.

"Are those really your words?" he asked gently.

"Yes," Prudence replied firmly, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. Despite her sure tone, Phillip saw something resembling doubt flicker in her eyes for a split second before it was gone.

"I understand why you did what you did," Phillip said "When I was a baby,"

Prudence looked at him in askance.

"And I'm not angry about it," he lied. "You just wanted a child so badly, so you adopted me. And you tried to give me the best life that you could. I had a good education while growing up, and a comfortable lifestyle,"

Phillip paused and took a deep breath. Prudence had always been more reasonable than Emerson. If he could get her to see that what they were doing wasn't right, maybe he could convince her to let him go.

"But I'm a grown man now. You have to let me make my own decisions on whether I want to get to know my real parents. Keeping me locked in here is not going to change my parentage.," he continued.

Prudence's lip wobbled, and the former playwright realised that she was looking through him rather than at him. For a moment, Phillip thought that he might actually be getting through to her before she shook herself before turning her gaze back to his.

"Oh Phillip," Prudence sighed, bringing one hand up to her forehead in exasperation "We are your real parents," she reached out and, in an unusual display of affection, brushed a stray lock of hair of his forehead. "Oh dear. I can see that it is as bad as your father claimed. They really have got into your head,"

"The Prudence Carlyle I know wouldn't let her husband treat her son like this. Look at me, 'mother', he is keeping me chained like a criminal in a poorly financed prison," Phillip tried again, knowing that he was clutching at straws, but right now, his freedom depended on it. "Is he threatening you? Are you scared of him? Because if that is the case, I can help you. You can let me go and the two of us will leave right now. You won't need to be scared of him ever again,"

"Of course I am not scared of him!" Prudence practically yelled, surprising both of them. Prudence Carlyle had never really been one for raising her voice. "Oh my poor boy, what have those circus freaks done to you. The fact that you would say such things about your own father just...I love your father, and he loves me. We both love you," she finished, lowering her tone.

Phillip scoffed.

"Come and sit down," Prudence said, taking the brunin by the hand and leading him back to the mattress, perching on the edge and encouraging him to do the same.

Phillip hesitated before obliging her, his desire to try to get her onside winning against the growing resentment he was feeling. He settled himself beside her, with a few inches between them before wrapping his arms around his knees, half expecting to be berated for adopting such an unseemly pose.

"We love you. That is why we are doing this. You'll feel so much better once you recover from these delusions that you are currently suffering from. You are _my_ son. You couldn't be anyone else's. You were our miracle, after five years of trying for a baby.   When I was with child, you used to move around so much that I felt sure you were going to kick your way out. You seemed so keen to join us in the big wide world, and then appeared to change your mind at the last minute. I should have known then that you were going to be contrary. But still, a 27 hour labour..."

Phillip listened, feeling the horror swirling in his gut increase with every word. He wasn't sure what worried him more, what she was saying, or that she seemed to genuinely believe the story that she was telling. Is that what she had done? Told herself this tale over and over again until she started to believe it.

"But you didn't give birth to me," he stated gently "You tried for five years, but it just didn't happen for you..."

"Stop it! Stop it!" Prudence cried, raising her hands to cover her ears, reminding Phillip of a small child scared of a thunder storm.

"It's alright," he tried to sooth, reaching for her as she raised herself to her feet. "Just let me out of here, we can go somewhere..."

"No. I'm not listening to this nonsense anymore!"

With that, Prudence Carlyle turned and fled, dashing out of the door, pausing just long enough to bolt it before thundering down the stairs as fast as her feet could carry her.

Groaning, Phillip threw himself back onto the bed, putting one arm across his eyes, the other he left dangling over the side of the mattress. Before he could really digest the conversation that he had just had, his fingers brushed lightly against something between his current bed and the wall. Sitting up, he leaned over and peered down at the object. It was a file. A builder's file. Quite a new one by the look of it. One of the construction workers must have left it behind and it wasn't discovered when Emerson was having the room prepared for him. Feeling more hopeful than he had for what felt like ages, Phillip fit the file into the metal staple sticking into the wall and wiggled it. It fit quite well, and would give him the leverage that his fingers wouldn't. Yes. It would give him a chance at escaping his current predicament.

 

*****  *********** ***** *********************** ****************************************************************************************

"Where is he!"

The butler, who hadn't had chance to even fully open the door before Phineas barged in, shrank back in alarm, eyes widening as several members of the circus strode in after their ringmaster.

"S s sir, my m master won't w w ant any tr trouble, he is a a respectable m man," the butler stammered, trembling slightly.

Phineas snorted at the word respectable.

"Where is he?" He asked again, his voice dangerously quiet.

The other man cleared his throat before replying, seeming to recover his voice a little bit.

"Who? I don't know who you are talking about. Please sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,"

"Not until I have my son with me," Phineas spat venomously.

The butler gulped, what little courage he had managed to muster fleeing as quickly as it had arrived. He opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, no sound coming out, causing Phineas to lose what little control he still had over his temper. Now Phineas wasn't really in the habit of manhandling the elderly, but the fierce protectiveness of a parent makes savage beasts out of the most level headed of people. Stepping forewards swiftly, he grabbed a handful of the man's jacket and pushed him, albeit lightly, against the front door.

"Phillip Carlyle. My son. I want to be taken to him right now, and then I'm leaving with him. And if he has been hurt in any way then so help me..."

"I, I d don't know..."

"Unhand my servant at once!" A cold voice barked over the top of the elderly servants jabbering.

Everyone jumped and turned, not hearing the master of the house's approach. Phineas slowly dropped his hand's from the butler's now very creased jacket and took a couple of steps backwards.

"Oh good Lord, it's half of the asylum," Emerson Carlyle sneered mockingly.

He was half way down the grand staircase, immaculately dressed and looking remarkably unruffled by the sudden intrusion of his home by a bunch of very rough and very angry looking circus performers.

"It is alright Geoffrey, I'll take care of this," he said as he continued his descent of the staircase, walking with an almost regal air about him.

Geoffrey let out an audible sigh of relief before straightening his jacket and scurrying back through to the parlour, closing the door hurriedly behind him, causing it to slam in his haste.

"Where's Phillip?" Phineas barked, moving swiftly to the foot of the staircase. The rest of the circus troop fanned out and followed close behind, standing defensively behind their boss like an army of legionaries. "Phillip!" he called, hoping for a response from his son.

"He's not here," Emerson said, picking a bit of imaginary lint of the cuff of his jacket disinterestedly.

Phineas scoffed and moved to brush past him and ascend the stairs to look for his missing child.

"He's _not_ here," the other man repeated himself, blocking the ringmaster's way, lifting one arm to place a restraining hand on his arm before aborting the movement, as if he was scared that he would catch something. "He left early this morning, to stay with my brother and his family in Chicago for a couple of weeks. I sensed that he needed to get away from the city, and from you and your wife, for a while.The poor boy was devastated by the way you treated him. I mean, that story about us adopting him from your wife when she was sixteen, what complete and utter _nonsense_. Although, of course I saw this sort of thing coming right at the very beginning of your little business 'partnership'. I knew that you would end up hurting him. You, your family, that circus, you are all complete trash!"

Red hot fury flowed through the ringmaster, pooling in his stomach and causing his hands to ball into fists.

"Liar!" he yelled, shoving the other man against the bannister. "You have him! You have taken him! and I will not let you keep him from me this time!"

Throughout the exchange, the other circus performers had stood at the foot of the staircase, twitching and bouncing on their heels, eager to do something to help but not knowing what. P.T was their commander, and as usual, they loyally awaited his orders.

"Spread out," Phineas instructed them. "Look for Phillip. Turn this place upside down, tear it apart. I really don't care."

"You might not," Emerson said, wrenching himself out of P.T's grip with a strength that the showman did not he possessed, causing the brunin to stagger backwards a bit before managing to catch himself on the bannister. "You might not," the aristocrat repeated, a smirk appearing on his face as he brushed himself down "But the police will. You all but broke into my house while drunk, manhandled my servant in an intimidating manner, threatened to do considerable damage to my property and then assaulted me,"

"He is not drunk," Constantine piped up, angry on his boss' behalf. "And he never assaulted you,"

"The police don't know that," Emerson sneered, lips curling in disdain. "And bruises are easy to acquire. Who do you think that they will believe?"

For a few seconds, he and P.T kept their eyes locked on each other, two alpha males staring each other out.

"I'm not leaving without my son," Phineas said with an air of finality, making another attempt at climbing the stairs.

"M Mister Carlyle?" came the quivering voice of that pathetic butler.

"Yes, what is it, Geoffrey?"

I've sent one of the kitchen boys for the police, sir,"

"Thank you, Geoffrey," Emerson turned back to P.T "Go now, get yourself away from here before they arrive, and I will clear this whole thing up. I will tell them that it was all a big misunderstanding. You can go home to your wife and daughters." he said, making it sound like he was doing the circus troop a big favour.

"Go to Hell," Phineas snarled.

"P.T, we should do as he says," Jeremy said, softly but firmly.

Phineas looked at him in astonishment, but it was the little female trapeze artist, the one that Phillip was clearly head over heels for. 

"Are you serious?"

"We're not going to help Phillip this way. The police will come, and they won't listen to a thing we say. They will just see a bunch of circus ruffians causing trouble for a well respected member of the upperclass,"

"He's right, Barnum," W.D said, frustration at the situation evident in the trapeze artist's voice. Not that Emerson Carlyle would ever admit but that man in particular intimidated him. He was a six foot slab of muscle, who, despite his placating words was clearly tensed, ready and willing for a fight. The way he was constantly cracking his knuckles and staring at him with a dangerous look made it clear that he was wishing that he could tear the aristocrat limb from limb.

"We can't help Phillip if we are all in prison cells," he continued calmly, in contrast to his threatening demeanour.

"Smart boy," Emerson muttered condescendingly. "For a Black,"

W.D shot him a sharp look. "We'll be coming back," he said acidly. "With the police and a warrant to search this place,"

 Phineas paused for a moment, at war with himself as the desire to find his son battled with the logical knowledge that this approach was going to get him nowhere other than jail.

"O.K," he sighed irritably, stomping back down the stairs towards the circus members and shooting straight past them towards the front door.

Emerson smirked.

"So we just leave?" the female trapeze artist asked, her expression angry. What was her name again? Nan? Anna?

"What other choice do we have, Anne?" Barnum asked, turning around to face her, one hand on the door handle. "He'll have us arrested before we can search half of this place. Then we can't help Phillip at all. We are just going to have to come up with a different plan,"

With that, the ringmaster opened the door and stepped out in the night before holding it open for his companions, shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world was resting on them. Emerson smirked at the sight. A smirk that was quickly wiped off his face when the other man slammed the front door so hard that it caused the walls to shake, the tremors upsetting a vase balanced on the window sill, the expensive item falling to the floor and smashing.

***************************************** ***************************** * **************************** *************************************

After Phineas and Phillip got the circus up and running again, the Barnums had purchased a different house, smaller than the mansion, but still rather spacious, with a large garden for the girls to play in, three storeys high and with several bedrooms. Charity  now paced the  polished wooden floors of the dining room agitatedly, wringing her hands and occasionally glancing at the grandfather clock or staring out of the window, hoping to see her husband or a circus member arriving with a message. It had been after the girls' bedtime by the time she arrived back at home, but they had still been wide awake, eagerly awaiting their parent's return. Charity had dismissed the nanny and gotten both children ready for bed before tucking them in and reading them a couple of bedtime stories. It was both a blessing and a curse when they finally fell asleep. A blessing because Charity no longer had to keep up the 'happy, everything is fine' façade, and a curse because she was now left to her own devices with nothing to distract her. So she threw herself into housework, rather unnecessarily because everything was pretty much clean and tidy. That, however, had not stopped her from polishing already spotless tables, straightening paintings that were already straight and cleaning the stove, a task that she normally loathed. Now, having ran out of jobs to do, she settled for pacing.

Despite listening out for any sounds of someone approaching, the knock on the door still startled her, and she took a deep breath to steady herself before going into the hallway to open it.

"Father?" she asked in confusion as the rising hopes she had of it being someone with knowledge on Phillip, or Phillip himself, were dashed. "Mother?"

"Charity, dear," her mother greeted her with a kiss on each cheek.

"Charity," her father acknowledged her gruffly.

"Forgive us for turning up at such a late hour," her mother said, as the pair swept past her and into the hall without waiting for an invitation to enter, Charity stepping back to allow access on autopilot. "But we were worried,"

"Worried?"

"We were supposed to have the girls tonight, but you never dropped them off."

Oh. With everything going on, Charity had completely forgot about that. Plus, the recent events had resurfaced some bad memories, and she was not feeling particularly congenial towards her parents on that particular night.

We came here to find them in the care of the nanny. We offered to take them there and then, but the impudent girl said that she could not let them leave the house with us without first having your permission," her father picked up where her mother left off.

"Sorry, I forgot," Charity replied, frowning in irritation when her father tutted. "We found Phillip," she said quickly.

Her mother and father frowned. "Who?"

"Our son,"

Her mother's hand flew to her mouth, a gasp of shock escaping, whereas her father didn't react other than narrowing his eyes.

Mrs Hallet's response of "He's alright? He's healthy?" was drowned out by her husband's voice.

"How?" he barked. "How did you find out?"

"A private investigator," Charity replied. "Out of all the people, why the Carlyles?"

"The Carlyles? Emerson and Prudence? What do they have to do with anything?"

Charity couldn't stop the pained noise that escaped her, half a gasp, half a little cry of pain, one hand coming up to lie over her heart, as if that would ease the emotional pain she was now feeling.

"You can't remember who you gave your own grandson too?" she whispered, tears pricking at the back of her eyes. She was beginning to feel hot, her bodice seeming to feel too tight, the room starting to spin dizzyingly as she leant against the wall to keep herself upright.

"Charity?" her mother hurried forwards a few steps, eying her daughter worriedly.

"Come now, Charity, it was a long time ago..." her father tried to reason.

"Get out," Charity hissed, recovering herself, shock being replaced by anger.

"Charity?" Mr Hallet said, astounded. He wasn't used to being spoken to like that.

"Just get out. I don't want to see you," Charity replied, walking to the front door and holding it open. "And I don't want you anywhere near the girls.".

"Charity, please..." Mrs Hallet begged.

"Charity, this is ridiculous,"

"You gave their brother, my son, your grandson, away to strangers, and were so  uncaring that you cannot even remember who you gave him to," Charity snapped. "Now, this is my house, and I'd like you to leave,"

"Charity..."her mother tried one last time as a stormy faced Mr Hallet guided her out of the house with one hand on her bicep.

"I don't want to hear it, mother," Charity said emotionlessly, before slamming the door unceremoniously in her parent's faces.

********************* ******************************** ****************************************** ****************************************

"Have you calmed down yet?"

Phillip eyed his father from where he was lying on his mattress. He would have got up, but the ring around his waist got heavy so quickly, and he wanted to save his strength. 

"That depends," he shrugs, rolling onto his back and folding his arms behind his head, knowing that his relaxed, couldn't care less posture would annoy the older man no end.

"Depends on what?" Emerson snapped irritably. 

"On whether you are ready to let me go or not."

"Phillip. We have been through this. I cannot let you leave while you are still living under these delusions. The Barnum's are using you. You are not their son, they don't care about you. All that they have been doing for months is leeching off you," 

All through his speech, Mr Carlyle had been moving ever closer until he was stood right beside the mattress, back ram rod straight and arms folded.

"They have never leeched off me!" Phillip helped, springing to his feet. He would not allow his father to tower over him as if he was just a five year old school boy. 

"Attitude! You don't raise your voice to me." Emerson took a deep, presumably calming breath. "Alright, fine. If they love you, why haven't they come and tried to see you?"

"Maybe they don't know where I am," Phillip retorted.

Emerson sneered. "They haven't even tried to figure out where you are, Phillip. The circus has been running like normal. I doubt that they have even realized that you have gone. If they were worried, they would be searching for you. And an idiot would be able to figure out that if you weren't at home, and you weren't at the circus, you would be with your parents. They don't love you. They don't love you because you are not their son," 

"You're lying" Phillip hissed.

"They are probably having a good laugh about it right now. 'The foolish, drunken kid who had such low standards that he let us trick him into joining the circus. And then, if you Please, he actually believed us when we told him that he was our son!' " Emerson let out a cruel chuckle. 

"Shut up! Just shut up!" 

Phillip was ready for the back hander when it came his way, but it was still enough to knock him off balance, the air leaving his lungs in a harsh huff of breath as he went sprawling on the floor.

"You will respect me, ungrateful wretch!" The elder spat, shaking out his stinging hand. "I am your father, the person who brought you up, who paid for your education,"  

Winded, Phillip tried to push himself up on one shaky arm, only to have it viciously kicked from underneath him. He groaned as he landed awkwardly, arm trapped between him and the floor. 

"I didn't do all of that so you could run off and join a bunch of lying, cheating conmen and prance about in some freak show!" Carlyle roared, stamping hard on his 'son's' leg, causing the other man to let out a muffled yelp. 

The sounds of footsteps thundering up the stairs outside distracted the two men for a second, but not before Emerson saw the hopeful expression that the former playwright was sporting. Despite his irritation, the elder smirked, knowing that in just a few moments, any hope that the other man had of imminent rescued would be dashed. The door was thrown open with a crash, and two men charged into the room. As wide as they were tall, scarred and nicked from hundreds of battles and skirmishes and zero warmth to be found in their demeanour, they were the type of blokes that would cause even the bravest of men to feel an icy cold flash of fear, or anticipation depending on whether or not you were inclined towards lunacy. Emerson felt a sense of satisfaction at the fact that Phillip had paled somewhat at the sight of them.

"Problems, boss?" the first man, Flint, asked. Flint was the shorter of the two, but no less savage looking than his companion. Flint had closely cropped dark hair, tree trunks for arms and a fresh scar running from his brow, down over his right eye and ending just above his cheek bone. The wicked looking knife shoved into the waistband of his tattered trousers completed the look.

"There is no problem, Flint." Emerson said calmly, putting one foot on Phillip's chest when he tried to rise again and pushing him back down. The boy had the common sense not to try to resist.

"We heard the commotion. We thought that you might need help," the other man, Wilf said. Wilf was over six feet tall, covered in tattoos and wore his hair shaved. He had also recently been in a brawl, although it was his mouth and not his eye that had received the damage. He jaw was badly bruised and both of his front teeth were wobbly as a result of whatever altercation he had gotten into. Emerson had no doubt that his opponent had walked away as the victor either. 

Wilf smiled hastily at Phillip, tooth absentmindedly playing with one of his loose canines. 

"Do you want us to teach him a lesson if you want? We're good at teaching people lessons we are," He continued while Flint nodded his agreement. 

Phillip let out a small, pained chuckle.

"Look at you, big man," he sneered at Emerson. "Using two thugs to do your dirty work - and to protect you from your chained up 'son'" 

"That won't be necessary, thank you Wilf," Emerson replied, ignoring the man on the floor.

 In one swift movement, he bent down and pulled Phillip to his feet, before shoving him back against the wall,  the sharp collision knocking the wind from his lungs. Before he had time react, the elder's hand was wrapped around his throat, applying just enough pressure to make breathing uncomfortable. 

"Do you really want to test me, boy?" Emerson growled in a low, but none the less dangerous tone "Because, I swear, I can make what you are going through right now seem like a picnic."

Phillip clawed at the elder man's arm when the grip on his throat tightened, beginning to panic that his adoptive father might take it too far this time. Emerson had lost his temper innumerable times before, but he had never quite reacted a viciously as this, to the point where he had actually started choking the person he claimed to be his flesh and blood.

"Please..." he wheezed, being rewarded with a satisfied smile and the pressure on his neck easing. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," Emerson spat, throwing him back against the wall  so hard that Phillip ended up on his hands and knees on the floor, coughing and clutching his tender throat.

With that, the elder man gave him one well aimed kick to the stomach before turning on his heel and storming out, his two goons following close behind, exchanging amused looks. 

 ******* ******* ******************************

Moaning in pain, Phillip managed to clamber onto his hands and knees and half crawl, half drag himself onto the mattress. 

'P.T and Charity are my parents. They love me. They are looking for me. They will come for me. Emerson and Prudence are liars' he repeated to himself over and over in his head, the mantra proving to be a good source of courage for the young man, as well as being useful at chasing away an insecurities that Emerson's words had created. 'My parents love me. They will come for me.'

Phillip reached for the file, which he had hastily concealed under his pillow upon hearing his father's approach, and removed it from it's hiding place. His real family were looking for him and would indeed come for him as soon as they figured out where he was. He had to believe that. He would fall apart if he didn't. Although there was no reason why he could not attempt to save himself in the mean time, he reasoned to himself, as he fitted the file into the staple again, pleased to see that the cement holding it in place was starting to give, and resumed working on it.

******************** ************* ******************************* ***************************************** **************************** ***

"He's high spirited, that one," Flint stated, in an amused, almost approving tone as they descended the staircase from Phillip's current quarters.

"High spirited or not, he is under the influence of complete lunatics, and needs to stay in that room for his own safety," Emerson Carlyle eyed the two men in front of him, daring them to challenge him.

The two men shrugged, they couldn't really care less if what the aristocrat claimed was true or not. All they cared about was the impressive payment that they were sure to get after this job.

"Well, there is no chance of him going anywhere, boss," Wilf replied easily, tongue playing with a wobbly tooth on his lower jaw as he spoke. Emerson didn't want to know what state the person who had provided him with such an injury was in. "You've got him chained up nice and tight up there,"

Emerson felt himself relax as he eyed the two paid louts in front of them approvingly. He hadn't just chosen them for their intimidating appearance and their fighting capability. He had chosen them because they were completely driven by money. Ruthless and lacking morals entirely, they asked no questions, told no tales, and would do whatever nasty deed was asked of them as long as the price was right.

"Barnum, and his band of merry freaks, must not be allowed to enter. I have no doubt that they will be back. Do whatever it takes to stop them getting in, and I do mean  whatever it takes." He instructed.

Wilf smiled nastily, licking his lips in an almost hungry way at being told that he could resort to as much violence as he pleased. 

"If they come back, we'll be ready for them, sir" he promised "But what of the boy?" He asked, nodding back up the stairs towards Phillip's room. 

"What about him?"

"Well, beg pardon sir, but I don't think that he is going to back down and submit to your fatherly authority quickly," 

"He will," Emerson said firmly. "He will. I will make sure of that. Even if I have to break him,". 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. Sorry for the delay. I had things to prepare for a last minute job interview which has taken up a lot of my time over the past few days. I hope that you enjoyed it.


	12. Update

Hi. Sorry, this isn't a chapter. I'm just posting this to apologize for the lack of updates recently. I haven't given up on this story, I'm just not finding much time to write at the minute. I am currently working full time in an office so the last thing that I want to do when I get home is stare at a computer screen and write. I do have the full story planned out though and will hopefully have the next chapter out in a week or 2.


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